


And, Yes, They Know New York Will Thaw

by cowboyfranche



Category: Fantastic Four (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bisexual Peter Parker, F/M, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nerd Peter Parker, New York City, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 23,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23406118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cowboyfranche/pseuds/cowboyfranche
Summary: Peter Parker can't tell Johnny Storm his real identity. It's unfortunate, considering he's had a crush on the guy for a year. He keeps meaning to do it, but he can't bring himself to go through with it.Luckily, now he's trapped in an alternate dimension where his dead self just did it for him.*AKA an answer to "what if Johnny Storm was in Spider-Verse?"
Relationships: Miles Morales & Peter Parker, Peter B. Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker & Gwen Stacy, Peter Parker/Johnny Storm, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson, Reed Richards/Susan Storm (Fantastic Four)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 192





	1. You've Gotta Be Cute if You Wanna Get Far

**Author's Note:**

> a love letter to nyc, spider verse, johnny storm, and a couple songs, all in one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Into the rabbit hole. But, first, everyone's favorite flame brain!

Peter Parker isn't crazy. He's traumatized, and sometimes neurotic, and eats cold pizza that's been left out directly on the counter for eight hours at 3 a.m., but he's not crazy. So when he sees himself staring straight back at him and he's not in front of a mirror, he knows something's really up.

Today had checked itself into his life's record as little more than mundane. He had no lectures to attend to in the morning and stayed out on patrol until 3 am. When he arrived back home through the creaky living room window at 3:30, he wasted very little time before stumbling to his bedroom, and tucking into bed. The alarm on his phone blared to life at 8:30, just in time to swing to work. The rest of his day he spent studiously submitting photos and discretely rolling his eyes whenever J. Jonah Jameson wasn't looking. Typical stuff. Nothing to blink at.

And after work, when he got back to his apartment, he put on an episode of New Girl and took the standard Spider-Man pre-patrol nap (the risk of falling asleep on patrol was both dangerous and humiliating, okay ?). Finally, at 10:00 p.m. when he awoke, he blearily splashed water into his face, before slipping the suit back on, swinging back unto his beloved city streets. Still just a run of the mill day in the life—for a spider, that is.

The only oddity of the day was completely self-inflicted. For the past couple of days, he's been avoiding Torch on patrol. It isn't because of any argument or falling out; he just needs new photo material for the Bugle and he can't take pictures as Spider-Man with Torch around. All of his connections to Spider-Man and convenient knowledge both in and out of suit would become way too obvious—even for someone as flame-brained as Johnny—and Peter just isn't ready for him to know. 

Of course, there's _totally_ a reason why, but Peter just can't supply it at the moment. 

Torch is trustworthy even if he likes to gossip. He wouldn't be put in any more risk for knowing Peter Parker than he already is for knowing Spider-Man. Having a family of superhero super-geniuses and a body that tended toward combustion really puts you at an advantage in that department. Really, the only downside is that he'd finally know that the asshole geek Peter Parker is the same guy as his best friend. (Is he Torch's best friend? Wait, does he consider Torch his best friend? Is his best friend really a guy that posted a rant on his Snap story after dropping his ice cream cone on his new Gucci loafers? And— _wait—_ Peter _still_ followed him? Peter had some rethinking to do). 

No, it wouldn't be horrible for Torch to know Peter Parker and Spidey are the same world-weary, 24-year-old menace; that isn't what he's afraid of. What keeps him cowering behind his mask is that Johnny would figure out that Spider-Man and Peter Parker _aren't_ the same person.

Spider-Man is everything Peter always wanted (read: tried) to be: funny, quick-witted, _fearless_. Spider-Man can leap into a burning building without a second thought. He speaks with ease, never tripping over his words or stuttering. Spider-Man never hesitates before responding in conversation, or worries that he's being too lame when all he does at parties is sit in the nearest remote corner and steal crackers from the charcuterie board until it's an appropriate time for an unnoticed Irish goodbye. _Spider-Man's_ friends with people like Johnny Storm. 

And Peter Parker? Well…he's more of a permanent work in progress.

He's been around these parts long enough to realize that Peter Parker is the same guy that saves New York's populace; he's got the bruises to prove it, and he'll give himself the credit. But he isn't the same guy that knows exactly what to say to keep them calm or shoot back clever one-liners at his foes. For Christ's sake, he can't knock at _M.J.'s_ door without stalling awkwardly beforehand, and she's his best friend. To put it simply, Peter has the courage but none of the style, and if Johnny were to see him for what he really is, Peter can only assume he'd be disappointed. After all, when he sheds the suit post-patrol and sees the graceless and underwhelming figure staring back at him in the mirror, he is too.

All of this is to say that avoiding Johnny is a necessary evil. Besides, nothing of importance has gone down the past few days, so it isn't even that obvious of an absence. Johnny probably hasn't noticed. He's a busy guy, socialite and all; a few missing taco hang outs and 10 p.m. team ups won't be too sorely grieved. 

The texts, though...those are harder to make up for.

The first day, it'd been nothing more than a " **look at this** ," alongside a picture of him slamming into the side of a building that he honestly wasn't sure if Johnny himself or a civilian took. Even he has to admit it's funny.

The next day, though, after his lack of a response, there was a message sent early in the morning.

> **Johnny: hey spidey im really sorry for sending u that. i promise i didnt laugh that much at it**

No response.

> **Johnny: hey are u actually mad? did I do something wrong?**

Again, nothing.

> **Johnny: Hey. Just wanted to see what's new with you. break in ur patrol tonight, we'll have dinner at the spot?**
> 
> **Johnny: Im going out now. If ur available, feel free to swing by (hah get it?)**

That one was hard to ignore, but he managed to keep his resolve. The next day:

> **Johnny: Hey Spidey. Maybe Im just stupid but usually u respond to me . Did u just lose your phone or something?**
> 
> **Johnny: ill stop spamming, text back when u have a chance. manhattans lonely without you :(**

Wow, Peter's a total jerk. Maybe Johnny was being a little dramatic for it only being three days, but usually Peter does respond to just about every text, everyday, multiple times a day. He's probably the most popular contact on his phone above M.J. and May, even. Thankfully, he'd finally been able to get the photos he needed, so he can finally hang out with Johnny tonight.

As soon as he gets on the subway the next morning (having a little extra time to enjoy civilian life), he whips out his phone, opening Messages. 

> **Spider-Man: Hey, Torch! Sorry for the lack of a response: I've been swamped for the past few days. I'm free now, though!**
> 
> **Spider-Man: Midnight?**

Just as he clicks the cracked screen of his phone back off, moving to stuff it back into his coat pocket, he feels the device vibrate through his fingers. He tapps back open the app.

> **Johnny: sounds good, spidey babe ;)**

Peter can't fight his grin at his screen. When he finally manages to move his eyes from the message, he catches the vaguely disturbed eye of a fellow passenger. Suddenly self conscious, he flattens his expression, clearing his throat and looking away. The red still lingers in his ears, though, and he can feel it.

That's another problem: Johnny is a natural flirt, and Peter is weak enough to stumble right into his playboy shenanigans. At first, everything that came from Torch's mouth had been eye roll inducing. Some of the lines were truly terrible, and he felt sick thinking they worked on any poor souls out there. But as time passed, and Peter began to see the goofy and admirable guy behind the façade, he found himself foolishly falling prey. 

It didn't help that Johnny always lays it on thick toward him—more so than others, he notices. He always has a nickname or comment readily available to sling at Peter, and Peter never figures out how to react. Sometimes, he throws back his own over-the-top name (light of my life, old flame, hot stuff) right back, and other times all he can do is stop himself from freaking out audibly, settling on a muffled, strangled noise. 

He can deal with faking a crush on Johnny Storm, but he can't deal with the flame head knowing he's harboring a real crush on him. It'd stroke his ego just like a matchstick on a box, so much that he might just burst into sparks. Of course, Johnny isn't the type of jerk that would ever make fun of him for something like that (at least without fearing Peter'd used his own romantic history in a fit of M.A.D.), but it'd make things so strange between them, and Peter can't sacrifice their duo just for a silly crush. Even if he really find himself liking the guy. Like, a lot.

None of this goes to mention the fact that Johnny can't feel the same—that should be implied by default. Peter Parker can't match up to Johnny's expectations; he isn't Spider-Man. He'd have to tell the guy sooner or later, and he'd just be disappointed. 

Still, he can let himself pretend there's a universe in which Johnny Storm and Peter Parker could work out—at least for a bit.

Later that night, when he's finally stretched and readied for patrol, he can't settle the pit of nerves in his stomach. The urge to slap himself overwhelms his frustrations. He's 24, for God's sake! He shouldn't still feel like he's 15 and on his first date, especially just heading out to see Johnny on patrol. Avoiding interaction with him for a couple days threw off his rhythm, and now he feels like a fawn on shaky legs. Attempting to center himself, he focuses instead on how stupid Johnny is. It's a little petty, but if it works, he'll try anything.

Johnny will have some dumb stories, no doubt. They won't reach any caliber of gravity, and will probably tread along the lines of complaining about whatever rich person things he usually does, like the loud clubs he goes to and how his mini quiche this morning was too cold (okay, that last one's fake, but Peter hates how plausible it is that Johnny could say that). In response, Peter'll just laugh and make sarcastic comments at them, all while trying not to stare at Johnny's ruffled blonde hair, strong jaw, lean, muscled shoulders, or his sparking baby blue eyes.

Yeah. Sounds like a plan. Not at all what you'd hear from the pages of _Tiger Beat_ , verbatim.

He has some time before he'll see Johnny, so hopefully he can actually gather himself before seeing the flame brain, maybe even workshop some lines on some crooks. Yeah, he'll be cool.

* * *

He's not cool. Even if the past couple hours had served as a time for a mental intervention, he's barely scrounged up any fortitude useless against Johnny's natural charm. Damn him and his perfect teeth. 

Johnny's already sitting on the lovely Lady's torch when he arrives, reusable bag next to him undoubtedly filled with tonight's pick of take out. He hoists himself up, catching Johnny's eye. The young hero's face immediately lights up.

"Spidey! Hey! Was wondering if you'd show up!" he teases, but Peter can hear the fault in confidence behind it. He cringes internally, knowing it's because of him.

"Wouldn't miss it for the world, Torchie. Plus, I'm hungry." 

Johnny opens his eyes in response, but then spots the box in Peter's hand as he climbs to sit next to him. 

"What's that?" he asks, shooting a curious look. 

Peter doesn't respond verbally, just opens the cardboard flap up, revealing what's inside.

"Is that," Torch begins, eyes flitting between Peter and the pastry, "a Kringle? Where'd you get that _this_ time of night?"

"We're in New York City. Also, old ladies with Dutch bakeries love Spider-Man."

Johnny just stares. "I don't think I'll ever truly get you, Webs. But I will eat the pastry."

Peter laughs, pulling his mask up to his nose. "What'd you bring?" he asks, feeling a little like an elementary school kid at lunch, but nostalgia pairs well with the New York skyline at this time of night.

"Mediterranean. A little place opened up down the block from the building and I haven't tried it yet."

"What'd you get?"

Johnny pulls out four containers. "Baba ganoush, pita on the side, falafel, and two pre-made pitas: megaderra, and hummus and tabouli. Take whatever." 

After a few seconds of thought, Peter settles on starting with the megaderra, needing something filling quick. Swinging around and kicking criminals in the face really takes it out of a guy. Johnny decides on the falafel first, easily popping one into his mouth.

They both eat for a bit in comfortable silence, before Johnny turns to him, swallowing.

"So, what were you up to the past few days? I missed you."

Peter nearly shivers at the way he says it, pouting with his lip pushed out. Feeling Johnny's warm breath move through the cold air and deep through his suit, he can picture what it would be like, pressed close to Johnny, his lips on Peter's neck, just breathing.

He bites the inside of his cheek hard. _Not the time. Never the time, Parker._ He has it worse than he thought.

"Job stuff. School stuff. You know," he responds vaguely.

Johnny stops pouting, maturing his expression into a frown. "No, I don't. You won't tell me what you do, or what 'school' even is for you. You could be in middle school for all I know."

"You caught me. I'm 12 years old. Mr. Torch, can I interview you for the school science fair?"

"Ha, ha. There's no way you're 12; not with an ass like that," Johnny replies, unamused.

Peter's so thankful he chose his costume to half a full face mask, before he realizes it's now rolled up to his nose, and Johnny could definitely see his burning face. 

"Anyway, school is graduate level. Work is boring. Happy?" he deflects, knowing the additional details will be enough to steer Johnny back from that comment.

Johnny grins at the sudden provided information. "Never. But it's a start. Graduate, huh? What for?"

Peter finishes the last of the pita, brushing the crumbs from his hands and past his feet, tumbling down to the ground below.

"Nerd stuff. Nothing that would interest you," he says carefully. 

Johnny just looks more determined. "Well, you seem to understand the gibberish that Reed speaks, so it has to be something science-y right?"

"Maybe I'm studying English and know enough big words to fake it."

Torch looks at him doubtfully. "Didn't you say you had your girlfriend write you a speech once?"

Oh, yeah. He forgot he told Johnny that. 

Peter had won a scholarship sponsored by Oscorp senior year (oh, the irony…), and it was apparently remarkable enough that he had to give a speech at the acceptance ceremony. He drafted at least a dozen versions, but all of them were either embarrassingly stiff or just plain boring to listen to. Peter—ever the one to agonize over social impressions, especially in front of a crowd of his peers—moaned at length during the writing process, enough that Gwen had just sighed and said she'd write it for him. Initially, he refused, but twenty minutes later, Gwen sent him a word doc with a perfectly written speech, and he shut up.

So, yeah, maybe not a wordsmith and definitely not an English major. 

"You've got me there."

"That girlfriend, you ever see her anymore?" Johnny asks, and Peter tries to keep the line of his mouth from dipping below the x-axis. He doesn't get this a lot anymore—most people have heard about Gwen Stacy's death one way or another, and most heroes and vigilantes don't know enough about Spider-Man to ask. Johnny doesn't even know what really happened with Gwen, but he's at least gotten a sense that Spider-Man's a single arachnid right now. 

Peter picks what he says carefully. "On occasion, but what was between us is over." None of it is a lie, at least technically. He's moved on enough to date again, although he'll always love Gwen, and he visits her grave when he has the chance (and can get himself to face it).

"Oh," Johnny says, clearly sensing something's changed, but clueless as to what. "Bad end?"

Peter can't help but wince this time. "Kind of the worst it could be, I think."

"I'm sorry, then," Johnny apologizes, with a brief burst of genuity. There's an awkward pause before he begins speaking again, "I was just asking because if Spider-Man's good with older gals, I wanted to know if it applied to all ladies in general," he tries, grinning apprehensively, and Peter can't help but snort. Johnny's expression smooths after.

"Time has proved that, unfortunately, that is not the case. Spider-Man's woo-ing skills apply only to the elderly, I guess." 

He swears he hears Johnny mumble something, and he strains to listen, but fails. 

"What'd you say?" he asks.

Johnny turns to him, surprise blinking from his eyes. "Nothing, Webs. Must be hearing voices or something."

"Something, something, you're the one that likes to hear the sound of your own voice, something, something," Peter responds. 

Johnny's face screws up. "Did you just say 'something, something' instead of actually forming a comeback?"

"Not an English major, remember?"

Johnny rolls his eyes, laughing. "Clearly." Peter can't help but smile at the way the corners of his eyes crease, full of mirth. He can count each of Johnny's freckles from here, visible under the torch's light. He always just looks so alive—a living, flickering flame.

Warmth travels across his chest, flooding his entire body, and it's because of the man next to him but not just from the heat Johnny emits naturally. 

"Hey, uh, Spidey. There's something I wanted to tell you, actually." Johnny's voice dips into a quieter pitch and takes on a far more serious quality, and it's enough to break Peter out of his fixation. Johnny looks down to his feet, almost like he's avoiding Peter's eyes. Peter must be seeing things. Johnny Storm showing any kind of seriousness or humility is less common than a blue moon.

"What's up, Torchie?" he replies.

Johnny turns to look at him directly in the eye, and he feels the full intensity of the baby blue, electric and swimming in the light. It's enough for the flush to heat back into his face.

"I've been meaning to say it for a while, but I wasn't sure and, well, I—" Johnny starts, picking up momentum, but whatever he means to say is interrupted by Peter freezing, spidey sense slamming into him like a poured bucket of ice water.

"Something's—" he starts, but he's overpowered by a sudden crack in the air.

They both whip to see the fractures in the sky before them. It's unlike Peter's ever seen—swatches of each color of the rainbow, all eye bleedingly neon, like staring for hours at a screen. They appear in perfect, geometric flashes, blurring almost like classic glitching, and each causing a horrific warping sound that should never occur naturally, if at all. At the center is a swirling black mass, solid and flanked by clouded rings of purple, blue and white, all swirling. It flows forward, roaring louder as it expands. 

It feels like every atom in his body is being pulled forward, and even the natural adhesive of his body is non-resistant. His eyes widen, and he's trying to scramble back instantly, web shot back behind him before he even processes it.

Johnny's already sprung into the air, fully inflamed, apparently unaffected by the portal. Meanwhile, Peter's being dragged feet first by the invisible force. The web he shot out instantly rips away.

His fingers drag against the metal, but find no friction. "Spider-Man!" he hears Johnny yell over his grunts, exerting maximum force just to hold on. He looks up at the other hero, watching helplessly as Peter's pulled in. Torch can't pull him back while he's engulfed in flames, and standing on the Statue's sloped torch would just cause them both to tumble down, so he can do nothing but watch and shout. 

"Johnny!" he shouts back, screaming louder as he sees himself pulled past the edge of the portal.

The last glimpse of his world through the black and purple haze he sees is the fear on Johnny's face, hovering above the copper of their Lady, reaching out in vain for Peter, swallowed by inky black and suffocating purple. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first chapter! It doesn't feel like it though because I'm posting a bunch at once, haha.
> 
> This fic (or at least, a chapter of it) has been in the notes of my phone for months now. It didn't even include Johnny at first, just my Spidey and Gwen, but look how far we've come :)
> 
> If you've never had a Kringle...wow. I'm so sorry you have to live like this. Seriously, cherry Kringle should be its own food group, it's so good.
> 
> This chapter's title taken from "NYC Like a Graveyard" by the Moldy Peaches. Fic title taken from Regina Spektor's Don't Leave Me (Ne Me Quitte Pas).
> 
> xx


	2. The Places We Will Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rationalizing with Star Wars, the Fantastic Four helpline, a little NYC geography, and our Lovely Lady

Next thing he knows, he's being sucked through some other dimension, spinning fast. He swears he sees planets and galaxies and webbing, but the movement is too quick and jerky to get much of a view.

Also, there's the problem of every single atom in his body protesting being tossed around through the world's most unanticipated lesson in quantum mechanics. 

It's like Obi Wan said: _"I felt a great disturbance in the Force…as if millions of voices suddenly cried out in terror, and were suddenly silenced."_

Except none of the voices have been silenced by a star destroyer. They're all crying out, stabbing each of his nerves repeatedly. Although, the Jedi master's next sentence is completely applicable.

_I fear something terrible has happened._

Peter has the same inkling.

He jets backward, suddenly bursting through another flash of purple and black, rocketing down toward what he thinks is the earth—possibly even still the cityscape—and smacking into the ground abruptly. It knocks the air out from his lungs and a cry of both pain and surprise from his lips, before he bounces, crashing and flying over and over again until he finally lands, smack on his ass.

He groans when he finally sits up, carding his fingers through his hair, before opening his eyes to the world around him.

He's definitely on Earth, and definitely in New York, if the view of St. Patrick's over this rooftop is anything to go by.

He stands up, grimacing at how his back and legs ache in protest, but continuing anyway. He walks closer to the edge of the building's he's crashed on, all the while peering at the skyline surrounding. All the billboards and buildings look the same as his city, but the time's different. It must've been around 12:30 a.m. when he was talking with Johnny (he has yet to include a Spider-Watch in his suit), but the sky here is bright blue, and the sun indicates it's around midday. Either he's time traveled, or this is another dimension entirely.

Wouldn't be the first time he's seen either. He's met the X-Men, and those guys deal with that kind of thing on a basis that seems like weekly.

Below, on the street, crowds flood around the cathedral. He's never seen anything like it before. The cops have police cars lined up and fences erupted to barricade the roads blocking any traffic. The mass of bodies extends in a large circumference, circled around the large, stone steps. 

The weirdest thing—beyond the crowd so sense it almost looks like a blanket's fallen in New York City—is the voice that's speaking, standing at a podium in the center. Peter recognizes it immediately, even if it seems nonsensical.

_M.J.?_

" _My husband Peter Parker was an ordinary person. He once said that it could be anyone behind the mask. He was just a kid who happened to get bit... He didn't ask for his powers. But he chose to be Spider-Man...My favorite thing about Peter is that he made us each feel powerful. We all have powers of one kind or the other and in our own way we are all Spider-Man, and we are all counting on you._ "

From the eulogy, Peter quickly gathers three things: 

  1. He's in another dimension.
  2. Mary Jane is speaking as a widow.
  3. The Peter Parker of this universe is _dead_.



Working it out at a frightening mental velocity, he pieces together the fact that Peter Parker's death in this universe has something to do with his own appearance. It's too coincidental not to be. This universe is unstable, and something about its instability sucked him in from his. This Peter's death had to be caused by one of his enemies, or else his identity wouldn't have been leaked to the public, so he'd bet it has to do something with a project developed to mess with particle accelerations, if the warp in dimension can be considered a side effect. It doesn't seem like an intended result, because he didn't crash into the middle of a sinister lab or anything.

Beyond that hypothesis, though, he has no idea why or how he's here. All he knows is that he's standing on this rooftop, utterly confused. 

As M.J. wraps up her eulogy, Peter spots the other figure standing a few feet to her right. Peter knows who she is quicker than he did M.J.. He doesn't know if May's already spoken, or is even going to speak, but as soon as he sees her, he can't help but swing away.

He doesn't care if he misses something important. Even in another universe, he can't listen to Aunt May eulogize him. 

He just can't. 

He doesn't know where he's swinging. Geographically, he's had NYC mapped out like the back of his hand for years now. He could probably swing blindfolded if he wanted to, but logically, he doesn't know where to go to solve something like this. 

The best solution to this, speaking as a side effect of what he guesses to be a bigger problem, would be to terminate any artificial particle accelerations. He doesn't know who's causing them, though, or where they're happening. He doesn't even know how to get information like that in a city so alike but so foreign to his. 

If he were home, he would just go to Sue and Reed for help; they provided him advice and served as mentors in his quantum physics studies, anyways. They could at least give him some direction, even if it was just confirming his guess at what the problem is. The issue with that is that he's _not_ home, and he can't just ask Reed and Sue of this world what they think—

Then he realizes: _Yes, he can._

He feels stupid for not thinking of it before. He's going to need a phone, though. 

It takes him a bit of asking around unmasked, still in his suit neck-down, but he finally gathers enough change from the general public that he can use a payphone. It's moments like this when there's a stranger in need, that Peter remembers how kind New York City can really be. 

He's pretty sure the fact that the people he asks are probably either coming from or going to Spider-Man's memorial and that he's in a Spider-Man suit helps, but it's still a kind gesture from strangers nonetheless.

He jogs to the first payphone in sight. He hasn't used one of these since middle school when everyone started carrying around mobile phones instead, rendering these things obsolete. It's a pleasant memory from his past, and the nostalgia washes over him, but it sours when he actually approaches the phone. He steps into the booth, wincing at some of the more offensive graffiti, and filling with irritation at the slow process that is both pushing in coins and dialing. 

Eventually, he's able to press in the numbers to the hotline that Johnny once made him memorize, and hear the dialing tone.

A voice picks up, playing what Peter recognizes as a pre-recorded Johnny Storm (he should know, he's got a few voice messages sitting in his phone's voice mailbox).

"Hey Fantastic Friends! You've reached the Fantastic Four Help Hotline! Thanks for calling. If your reason for calling is to provide a tip, press one. If you're calling for public relations, press two. If you're calling for merchandise, autographs, or—"

Peter presses one, then leans back into the booth, against his better germ-conscious judgement. 

"Please hold while your call is being transferred." 

A muzak track begins to play, flooding in his ears as his patience slowly begins to dwindle. When he gets back home, he's making them change the soundtrack. He's pretty sure he hears the same violin solo on loop.

"Hey! While you're waiting, go online at w-w-w dot fantastic four (spelled f-o-u-r) dot com and check out our fantastic new line of apparel suited for all ages!" Johnny's automated voice interrupts, and he rolls his eyes. Even in another universe, Johnny still stars in all the public marketing projects. It's kind of comforting to know that his Johnny isn't any more of a ham than others, though.

Something on the line clicks, and he's quick to stand back up, alert. He's ready to launch into his explanation; he has it rehearsed.

_"Hi, I'm a foreign vigilante currently stranded in your dimension. I was wondering if I could receive your viewpoint on my current situation, and the state of this universe's quantum stability?"_

Yeah, it was crazy, but it was the lesser of many, many evils, including one where he just straight up started crying. 

"Hello, Susan Storm—"

He wants to cry now, hearing Sue's voice. She's so smart and so, so capable, and he's sure her and Reed will have an answer to send him right back home and—

"—Invisible Woman of the Fantastic Four. Unfortunately, our line is down today while we observe the loss of one of New York's heroes. We appreciate your call. If your tip is urgent, please do not hesitate to leave a message at the tone. Thank you."

Another tone plays, anticipating he leaves whatever tip he has, and _oh, he's going to leave a tip._

"Hey, you four. Just wanted to say that I happen to be calling with some _very_ time sensitive information relating to dimensional travel and quantum theory occuring in real life, and now you've missed your opportunity to hear it, and certainly your opportunity to study it. I hope you can live with missing out on this very scientifically fascinating happening, _Sue and Reed_."

He slams the phone back into place, spooking the few pedestrians around with his fury, and it immediately falls back down so it's hanging by the cord. He doesn't bother picking it up.

By the time he stomps away and marches down the street a block, he's calmed down, and kind of feels like a jerk. Okay, it's not the Four's fault they closed their line. Depending on how close this Peter was to them, they've just lost a friend. Even if he didn't know them well, he was still a member of their community, and it's shocking and grave nonetheless. 

It's just also _really, really_ inconvenient for him.

He considers calling any of their personal cells instead, but doesn't know how he'd explain why he knew their number or why he needs help in a way that wouldn't put unnecessary suspicion on him. 

Also, he doesn't know how close his voice is to this universe's Peter, but if the Fantastic Four received a call on their personal phone from a voice sounding just like their recently passed colleague… 

Yeah, not a good idea. 

Clocks around the city all say it's 2:00 p.m.. He's not sure when the memorial started, or when it's supposed to end, or if the funeral's today or not, so he doesn't know if he can even visit the Baxter Building anytime soon expecting the Four to be there. In person is his most convincing opportunity because no one can deny his powers when they're visually witnessed, but getting an appointment with any of them is probably near impossible right now, and maybe even for the foreseeable future. 

With that, he reluctantly crosses the Four off his list of options. But what he'd give to see Johnny right now…It wouldn't be his Johnny, but even having those few seconds looking at him, seeing the same warmth and edges of his face, it would be worth the harsh reality check after.

Peter's mind moves to the Avengers next, which he almost laughs at, because the whole thing is just a repeat of the problem with the Four, except they definitely have ties with Spider-Man. Honestly, he'd be impressed if this guy was able to avoid their shameless noses, always poking around anyone who even considers donning a mask's business.

That leaves…no, actually, that _doesn't_ leave the X-Men. He doesn't imagine all of them are at Spider-Man's funeral, but at least some are, and they'd be quicker to detain him for interrogation than the other two, just based on hypervigilance from prior experience. It was valid, but still, Peter didn't really want to be locked in a room and mentally exposed. He wasn't so keen to share his malformed mind with just anyone, these days.

After that, that left. Well, no one. 

And that was kind of sad.

Of course, he just flicked through three of the most prominent hero organizations in the U.S. that he did have ties with, but still, having nobody left to turn to was sad.

Even once he reaches civilians, there's no one. M.J.'s grieving her Peter, and he can't just walk into her life out of nowhere and push a problem she's not equipped to emotionally handle or advise right now. That would be cruel.

And Aunt May?

Well… 

Besides that, who does Peter have? A handful of friends in his graduate program which he's not sure even exist in this world who definitely wouldn't be qualified to do more than speculate on the situation? Yeah, not helping.

Treading down the street, he can't help but feel so utterly miniscule, surrounded by roaring, shaded skyscrapers. He has no money and nowhere to go, so the only thing he can do with himself is wander the streets, mask in hand, stumbling around the city. 

He could wander into Hell's Kitchen, and he thinks about it—alert the careful alarms Daredevil's so carefully weaved through his domain of their shared city just for fun, just to pass the time—but he remembers: St. Patrick's only minutes away from the vigilante's headquarters, Daredevil must be at the funeral too, and this isn't _his_ city.

She looks the same, sounds the same, feels the same, but this isn't his home.

He just keeps walking, unsure of what else to do. 

By the time it starts getting dark, the sun setting on the city lights, candles illuminating homemade shrines, all centered around images identical to the beloved mask in his hands, lining the sidewalks as he passes by, he realizes where he's ended up. He's right by Battery Park, face to face with the Keith Harings. He traces over their loose, geometric shapes. The red and yellow still glows in the cold, dusky darkness. 

He doesn't know how he's gonna get home. He doesn't know who to talk to about it. He doesn't even know what time it is.

The web flies from his shooter before he even really thinks about it, mask secured back on, and he soars.

* * *

He can see their Lady in the distance from the ferry. He doesn't have any money, any plan, but one look at his face, and the girl in the ticket booth slides him a ticket anyway. If he tears up telling her thanks, then no one needs to mention it.

He leans on the edge of the railing, closing his eyes. The cool, night mist of winter brushes onto his face. He loves the Hudson. Feeling the way its waves rock and splash against the side of the boat always calms his nerves, clears his head. Even if it's usually packed full of tourists clinging to the rails like vices, he can always block them out; the salted edge of the Bay's scent is more than enough to mask any surroundings.

As the ferry nears the shore, a voice comes over the speaker reminding him to remain conscientious about departure times. Yeah, whatever. If he stays longer than the last departure, he'll just catch a ride on a helicopter. He's done it before. His webs are durable for a reason.

Once he's landed on the island, he makes his way slyly to the back of the Statue and begins to scale the Lady. He zones out, crawling over her dress' folds and creases, eventually reaching her shoulder. The monotony and familiarity of the climb are soothing: he can almost pretend like he's home. It's cold, but he's toyed with the composition of his suit over the years enough that it can withstand a certain amount of chill, and it's only November, so the temperature in the city hasn't plunged all the way yet. 

As he climbs the last few feet of her arm and stands on the platform beneath the flame of the torch, his ears detect a muffled sound. It's coming from above, and definitely on his designated spot.

Whatever bird's decided to roost there, he thinks, is going to have hell to pay. Even if this isn't his city, he feels enough of an abstract kinship with it to still feel some claim over his seat on the Lady's flame. That bird better ready itself for the meanest glare it's ever seen from a depressed grad student, and—if necessary—a very half-assed shoo-ing attempt.

But when he finishes the climb up the torch, finally onto the flame, it's not a bird he sees, and the sound coming from it is less like a bird rustling or cooing, and more like quiet sobbing. Instead of the pigeon he expected, all Peter sees is—

"Johnny?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter: this bird's about to be fucked up  
> *  
> there's an extremely small and niche reference to the PS4 game that I'd be amazed if anyone got.
> 
> the keith harings in battery park r red and yellow...almost like--no....it can't be...unless?
> 
> I haven't been to NYC in a while, but writing this makes me miss it. i love u garbage city. i hope u heal soon. 
> 
> also yes i know the flame is not a good hypothetical place to sit yes i know it's slanted. also how did Peter get to liberty island at midnight last chapter? don't ask he's a spider vigilante.
> 
> please ignore all my generous stretching of the ferry schedule. it technically could work here, but also, ehhhhhhhhhh
> 
> Chapter title taken from "If the Hudson Overflows," by Goldspot
> 
> xx


	3. New York, I Love You, But You're Bringing Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> help from a (not) friend

"Johnny?"

The flamed hero looks up, blonde locks blowing in the breeze. Strands stick to his cheeks, damp and waved by tears, the same ones that well in his eyes. He's wearing a suit, tie askew and hanging limp from his neck, and his unbuttoned shirt is wrinkled beyond the man's usual standards. He sniffles, breathing harshly through a blocked nose, before he really takes in the face that's just popped up from behind. 

How quickly his expression moves from grief to recognition to shock to anger—Peter's never seen anything like that on Johnny's face. He's engulfed in an instant, flying right above the Lady's flame. 

"Who the  _ hell _ are you?" he snarls, with so much venom that Peter almost stumbles back. 

He holds up his hands in surrender, now to his feet. 

"Woah, Torchie—"

It's the wrong thing to say. Torch flinches visibly, fire flickering viciously, and growls in response.

"—I'm a friend—"

"That doesn't answer my question, so I'll ask it one more time: who the  _ fuck _ are you?" Torch repeats, interrupting his feeble attempt to diffuse the situation.

He breathes in. "I'm Peter Parker. Earlier today, a rift opened in my dimension, and I landed here in yours. I don't know anything other than that, and I don't want to hurt you, or anyone. I'm just trying to get home, man," he finishes, and his voice sounds tired, strained. 

Johnny seems to relax, even if it's just barely. It's enough to make Peter start to think that he won't end the night nursing third degree burns, thankfully. 

"Why should I believe you?" he asks, voice still blazing with barely contained fury.

"I'll tell you something only Peter Parker would know about you, okay? Your name is Jonathan Lowell Storm—"

Johnny tenses up again, "Wikipedia could tell you that, too," he warns.

"—when you were a kid you wanted to be a professional snowboarder," he blurts. Weirdly enough, it seems like it works. Johnny's fists unclench.

"Go on," he says skeptically.

Peter nods, swallowing. "You secretly look up to Sue, and you want to be a good role model for Franklin more than anything. You helped him build his car for the local soap box derby. Your biggest regret in life—at least what you told me—is never com—"

"—Coming out to our parents before they died. Yeah, that one's not true anymore, but that's enough," Johnny finishes, muttering. "I believe you." Something more akin to exhaustion flits across his face, smothering any anger left there. He drifts over to where he was sitting before, letting out a weak "flame off," and pulls up his knees. His eyes aren't glaring daggers into Peter's anymore, instead just staring out past the waterline, tracing over where the city meets the sky.

Slowly, Peter steps forward, moving as if Torch will tell him to scram any moment, but he gets no such scolding. Johnny just seems quiet again, withdrawn, and shows no sign of any qualms as Peter sits next to him, leaving more of a distance than he would with his Torch, but still close enough to show his familiarity.

Johnny exhales, voice still jagged like he's been crying for a while. "How'd you know I'd be up here?" he asks, still casting his vision away.

Peter's eyes are still trained on his face, trying to pick up the context of the wetness there. 

_ How close were they? _

"I didn't, honest. I just came up here to think. Torch and I usually meet here, so it was kind of second nature, I guess."

Something in there piques Johnny's interest, because it's enough for him to look over, eyes wary. "You guys still hang out?" 

_ Still. So they at least used to be friends. _

"Yeah. I'm guessing you and your Peter…stopped?" he says, trying not to sound too much like he's prying. He doesn't need to know about this guy or his relationship with Johnny, but he has a curiosity—call it morbid—for what could destroy a relationship between Peter Parker and his best friend. He can't even imagine never talking to Torch again; he went three days and it was torturous. Torch is like a little puppy, just waiting outside his door. How do you tell a puppy to go away? 

Of course, this Johnny is a little less of a puppy, face formed with sharper angles, nose more pointed and less rounded; something of intimidating beauty rather than cute, boyish charm. He's handsome, but looking at him just makes him miss his own Johnny all the more.

"Yeah," Johnny says, a little despondent. 

"Why?" Peter asks, before he thinks about it, and almost begins to backtrack, before Johnny answers.

"He wouldn't tell me his identity. I freaked out. He got mad. We stopped talking. And it just. Ended," he says, painstakingly candid. His eyes look dully back forward. "It's funny," he laughs hollowly, "if you asked me last week about it, I probably still would've defended myself. But now? I know it never fucking mattered. It's not even what it was about." He laughs again, a joyless sound. There's no warmth in it, not even any fire of fury. It's just empty; cool like an extinguished flame. Johnny's hand combs through his hair, brushing the strands from his eyes, which flit over to Peter.

"You tell your Johnny your identity yet?"

There's the million dollar question. He wants to explain himself—he's almost done it before, but, really, it's to save Johnny the grief of knowing the truth about him! He doesn't want to get his hopes up and then drop them so low all of a sudden when he removes his mask! And, also, he really has said some too-mean things to Johnny as Peter Parker on accident and he doesn't even know how to broach an apology—

But he feels like he should be the last one defending himself right now, especially when it'll only open someone else's old wounds.

"No," Peter admits, and he can't help the flush that floods into his face alongside shame.

Johnny smiles, but it looks so forced. "Of course," he breathes, shaking his head, but it doesn't seem like it's in disdain, more like he could never have believed the alternative.

"Well, when your Johnny gets mad at you for it," he starts, like that, too, is inevitable—like every Johnny Storm will always be angry at his paranoid Peter Parker at some point—moving to stare directly at Peter, blue eyes piercing in the same light that made his Johnny's soften, "you look him dead in the eye, tell him that he's a stupid fucking brat, and that he should be grateful that he has you," he demands, and  _ there's the fire _ .

Peter chokes on any words that well in his throat, unsure how to respond. There's more layers here than he really understands, and he feels like it's unfair to claim knowledge of any of them. "Okay? Thanks?"

Johnny frowns, hard lines forming in his forehead. "No I—ugh, I didn't mean—" He groans, frustrated. His hands run across his face, rubbing his eyes, palms resting on his cheeks. "I know you're not him, okay?" Johnny states, unusually bitter. "It's just been a shitty day, and now you're here, and it's like everything that was shitty about it before is amplified and nothing can be quiet anymore. It's why I couldn't go to the service, even if I know I'll kick myself for it tomorrow. All those people—they're too god damn loud," he rants, gesturing to Peter with visible irritation. 

He sits silently, then nods slowly. "Okay. I'll just, I'll just leave, okay?" he decides. "I get it Johnny. I'm sorry," he apologizes, because he does really get it. The days following Gwen's death were horrible. Everyone was on top of him, constantly breathing down his neck and asking how he was, when all he wanted was to grieve in silence. It was like a cruel rehashing of Ben's death, but this time he had even more to pretend. He knows how Johnny must be feeling. His Peter, on top of his parents. He'd want the silence too. He shouldn't have intruded. 

He goes to stand, even getting as far as walking back toward the backside of the torch, before Johnny calls after him. He turns. Johnny's grimacing.

"Look, I'm sorry. My mistakes aren't on you.  _ His _ aren't either," he adds, like he's just realizing it himself. "Even though he's not here, I think he'd help you, and because he's not here and I know I owe it to him a few hundred times over… _ I'll _ help you," he says, and Peter can't help but gape.

Johnny really doesn't have to help. Sure, if this Peter Parker's anything like him, then, yeah, he would help, but he's not sure how that transfers onto Johnny. Again, the layers in this seem to be working far more intricately than Peter has any real awareness for, and he knows he needs to tread lightly around this mystery rift.

But that doesn't mean he's going to say no to an offer as good as this.

"Really?"

Johnny hums reluctantly. "Yeah. I'll take you to Sue and Reed. I can't promise anything, but they're better than nothing."

"Wow, um, thank you," Peter says, lost for words. 

Johnny nods slightly, whispering "flame on" into the cool night air. He sparks into the air, fully engulfed once again by hues of orange and scarlet. 

"Meet me outside my window at the Baxter Building in two hours," he states. Peter agrees soundlessly.

Before Johnny flies off, he turns back to Peter, gazing at him sharply. "And don't thank me. I'm not doing it for you," he states icily

With that, Torch bursts across the sky, back across the Hudson.

Peter doesn't know what time it is, or how he's going to get home, but what he does know now is who to talk to about it.

Without further hesitation, he leaps from the golden torch of Lady Liberty, and webs his way down, hurtling back toward the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ohhhhhh Johnny, how I love thee, even if you're really, really sad.
> 
> We'll get into the thick of it later, but you can probably guess why he's taking it so hard :(
> 
> snowboarder line in reference to the dumb movie. even if it's bad, Jessica Alba is still a pretty Sue.
> 
> for all this fic reference the Statue of Liberty, I may as well just tag her as a character. Peter & Johnny & Lady Liberty is the main pairing here.
> 
> Chapter title taken from "New York I Love You But You're Bringing Me Down," by LCD Soundsystem.
> 
> xx


	4. Let Me Give the Kids Just a Little Help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> meeting with dr. and dr.

It takes about an hour and a half to arrive in Manhattan, web slinging travel time included. He only knows because he asked the time on the ferry, and then checked it again once he landed on 42nd, just outside the building. He knows Johnny told him two hours, but he really has nothing else to do or anywhere to go, so he hopes the 20-something minutes he arrives before expected won't annoy him too much. Anyway, it seems like Peter annoys this Johnny in general, so even if he was on time, he could probably anticipate similar results.

Peter's been in through Johnny's window enough that he can point it out from the ground. Usually, it's just a quicker way in instead of through the doors and security, but they've hung out in his bedroom before, playing video games or watching through Johnny's collection of movies. He likes the layout between four walls, with movie posters hung up thanks to a younger, rebellious Torch, a book nook where Johnny snaps selfies pretending to read for his monthly Instagram book club, a plush king bed covered with Fantastic Four branded silk sheets, and a flat screen TV. 

There's smaller things too, like the knick knacks and collected objects that reveal the more intricate facets of Johnny's personality: a double picture frame of him, Sue and their parents paired with a picture of the Four and Franklin, an old pinewood derby car missing a wheel, a Spider-Man bobblehead, a family portrait Franklin scribbled down roughly in crayon, a decorative dish on his dresser holding a few gold earrings for when he decides to sport his cartilage piercing. 

He likes the assortment of objects, how they all fit into one big puzzle piece, assembling the bigger image that is Johnny Storm. Johnny letting him see always felt like a sign of trust, and he always felt lucky for it.

He doesn't know what he'll see in this Johnny's room, what it will reflect.

He knocks on the glass when he reaches the correct window, but he finds it's already open, pulled up a few inches. He pushes it further up, just enough so he can slip through, and moves inside the room nimbly.

It's…not what he expected. Then he remembers that this Johnny wasn't always sad—probably wasn't even actively sad before the day Spider-Man died (which Peter still only knows as sometime this week). 

The walls are white, bright just like his Johnny's, but some of the posters are different, missing, and all of the smaller decorations are changed around. Instead of a reading nook, there's a desk, spotless except for a pristine notebook and a few pens.

Actually, the whole room is pristine—far neater than the state of his Johnny's room. The only indication of mess is the suit on the floor, and a couple other pieces of laundry strewn about.

Standing in the middle of this stranger's room, he feels unnerved. It feels wrong, almost voyeuristic. He was never meant to see this, be here, and yet—

Someone pushes in the door.

"Yeah, Sue, I will," Johnny calls, same tiredness from earlier still leaking from each word.

Peter blinks, taking in Johnny's form.

He's wearing sweatpants, and not much of anything else. Clearly he's just come from the shower, normally tousled beach blonde locks now damp and dripping down his neck, onto his bare chest. Peter can't help but follow the droplets down, staring at Johnny's tan skin, muscled abdomen, tracing down to his hip bones. Luckily, he's able to stop himself there, spotting the freckles dotting across his skin instead, and focusing on those, connecting them with invisible lines to form constellations. 

It hardly feels real. 

Torch clears his throat. Peter's head whips back up, flush flowing so heavily that he can feel it turn the tips of his ears. 

"You're here early," Johnny observes.

"Sorry," Peter rushes out, and takes a second to recollect himself and his thoughts, "I didn't have anywhere else to go." 

Johnny just stares back, unamused. "Glad I'm the last resort."

"You're also my first resort?" Peter tries. 

It works. Johnny cracks a half grin, shaking his head lowly. Droplets spatter off the wet strands of hair that hang down loosely. 

"Are all you spiders like this?"

"What?" Peter says dumbly. 

"Unfunny," Johnny replies, unpredictably curt, and Peter frowns, somewhat offended.

"I think I'm funny," he mutters.

Johnny's already moved on, though, rifling through his drawer for a shirt. As he bends, the muscles in his back flex, tensing and relaxing, pulling and resting his tanned skin, spotted with freckles and moles. Even if he's a jerk, Johnny's still ridiculously pretty without trying. 

He pulls out a black shirt, pulling it over just as quick, and Peter hates that there's a part of him in this situation that's able to be disappointed.

Honestly, he should be more disappointed in the fact that Peter Parker in this universe messed things up with Johnny to the point that the flame brain will only look him in the eye to glare at him. What did he say to him for this Peter to catch this much second-hand grief?

Although, he really shouldn't be admonishing Johnny for grief right now… 

Johnny glances his direction. "I already warned Sue and Reed. They agreed to hear you out. I'll take you to them now, but remember that hearing that Spider-Man's alternate self's alive and seeing it are two different things," he warns tightly, and Peter feels it's justified. 

He's not the guy they lost, but he's a rough approximation of him, and in Sue and Reed's place, he's pretty sure only verbally hearing about an alternate self and then actually, visually digesting a representation of his grief would be hard to experience.

"I'll keep that in mind," he responds.

Johnny just grunts, apparently content enough with his answer to move for the door, leading him down the hallway.

His whole body swells with dread, running hot in his veins. He's brought back to an earlier time, traversing through the building to meet Sue and Reed for the first time, half as Johnny's family, and half as two genius scientists whose work he had read and loved since he was old enough to understand it. Both were equally terrifying—the first because if Sue and Reed hated him, it would cause conflict with Johnny, and he didn't want to cause any splits in their team. The second because it would absolutely crush Peter's inner science geek to know his idols didn't respect him, and he'd probably have to drop out of school and just go mope for the rest of his sad, scienceless life. 

Luckily, Sue and Reed love him (which he can say, because they love to remind him), and he gets along with the team just fine (even Ben; they mutually enjoy teasing Johnny). 

But all that was built on the foundational fact that Johnny liked him first. Sue and Reed had a history to base their feelings towards him on, a pre-existing sense of approval. But this Sue and Reed?

The Peter _they_ knew abandoned his friend, their brother and brother-in-law. Even if it was mutual, he still made that decision and hurt their family member. It wasn't Peter's responsibility to answer for that decision, but he also knew that might be hard to keep that in mind when he wore the Peter that they knew's face, at least enough for Johnny to recognize. 

Johnny's preface to his arrival probably didn't flatter either. This Johnny (he needed to come up with a shorter name…) wasn't his biggest fan, and also this was one of the worst days for this situation to hit him. If these Four weren't as welcoming as his own, he couldn't blame them.

To calm his growing nerves, he tries to take in his surroundings, mapping the halls, rooms and staircases of this universe's Baxter Building. It's mostly the same as the one Peter's used to except for a few small changes—a decal on the wall where there was none, a different turn to take to get to the team's meeting area (at least, he assumes that's where they're headed), different pictures framed on the wall. He wished he were here under different circumstances; he'd like to look through the photos hanging. Looking at embarrassing pictures of young Johnny was always fun. 

After walking down the hall, up the stairs, and back down another hall, they rounded the corner to the meeting room, and Peter exhaled under his breath.

Sue and Reed are the same as always, discussing in hushed tones rapidly, faces wound in thought, theorizing and disputing hypotheses. The first time they showed him the lab, just seeing them do this was enough for him to geek out. 

Both are clad in black, looking a bit disheveled, poring over print outs with data streamed across. Sue has her hair drawn up, and Reed's is ruffled out of its styling from his own nervous habit. They spread their printouts over the table, circling and pointing to different data, leaning across and in front of each other to work out their process.

When he and Johnny enter the room, it's a second before they even break their focus to look up. 

"It's too unusual seismically for New York City—oh. Hello," Sue says first, abruptly, and Peter can't determine the expression that flashes across her face.

Reed smiles diplomatically. His skin holds an atypical pallor. "Hello, Peter."

He pushes down the desire to shudder. It's weird to hear Reed address him by his name. 

"Hello Dr. Storm, Dr. Richards. I really appreciate your willingness to offer me your time." 

Sue's not the one with a fire ability, but he's learned that's not the origin of the spark in Johnny's eyes. It's family genetics.

It's a cheap trick, addressing them properly so that they immediately like him a bit better, but it comes from a place of genuine respect, and he's in a tough spot, so any underlying manipulation can be excused for now.

"It's no problem. Sue and I have made it our life's work to observe dimensional abnormalities, so when one presents itself, there's no excuse not to investigate," Reed replies like it's perfect logic.

"I still appreciate it, especially in light of recent events in your dimension…" He rubs his neck, awkwardly. Johnny still looks at him unimpressed. Peter catches how Sue looks at him pointedly, before smiling back at Peter.

"It's alright. We've been curious about the side effects of whatever brought you here, anyway."

Peter removes his hand from his neck, now curious. "What effects?"

"There have been earthquakes the past week on an abnormal scale and at a high frequency rate. At first, we suspected a regular, antagonistic source, possibly even a mutant discovering their powers, but the scale and repeat instances of occurrence point otherwise."

"How bad is it?"

"Mass blackout across the city. Only brief and temporary, but still notable," Sue relays, "the last recorded earthquake being earlier today, sometime around 1:25 p.m.. I assume that was when you warped in?"

"That should be, yes," Peter confirms, unsure if 'warped' is an accurate description for being tossed and bounced through New York City like a little kid's Spider-Man toy ball, but stops in thought. "But if the earthquake occurred at the same time as my appearance, then the others…?" he asks. The weight of his implication dawns on Reed and Sue's faces.

"I didn't even consider that…" Reed mutters, grabbing one of the papers from the table to reexamine.

"There may be, although, we can't be sure they're the same as you. It could have been anything: furniture, pieces of buildings, pedestrians, animals," Sue lists off. She looks at Johnny, asking, "Have you seen any on social media?" 

Johnny squints, irritated crease lining his brow. "What are any of you talking about?" 

Peter clears his throat, "It's, um, likely—

"Highly likely," Reed adds, seriously.

"—Highly likely," he continues, "that because when I clipped into this universe, it coincided with an earthquake, the earthquakes over the past week are an indication of similar instances. To me." By the time he finishes, he looks at Johnny nervously. 

The other man's face looks skeptical. "So," he says slowly, "More Spider-Men?" 

"Not necessarily?" Peter corrects, and Johnny frowns.

"It could be anything, just from another dimension," Sue reiterates.

"I'd argue it's likely to be another Spider; it seems too coincidental to be otherwise," Reed mutters, and Sue looks at him sharply, before turning back to Johnny. 

"Have you seen anything on social media? Anything strange things reported in New York? Buildings, sudden sculptures…?" she trails off.

Johnny looks to his feet, "I haven't really been on social media the past few days," he mumbled, and Peter feels a cold pang rattle through his heart. No doubt opening Instagram right now would just be a reminder of everything he's lost. Mournful empathy spreads across Sue's face.

Reed clears his throat. "That's fine, then. We know that there's been at least one instance where something was sent through a portal, which means that even if the others had pulled nothing into this dimension, it's graduating to more drastic effects. The question is what's causing these anomalies."

Sue leans back in her chair, running her hands up and down her arms idly. "I'd put my money on a particle accelerator."

"You don't think it's anything supernaturally inclined?" Reed asks, raising a brow.

"Um, with all due respect, Dr. Richards, I hypothesized the same as Dr. Storm. This universe's Peter Parker's identity was compromised, meaning he was defeated in costume. I suppose it could still be supernatural, but I find it far more likely that given the nature of the portals' tendency to appear as dimensional glitches more than rifts, they originate from scientific endeavors rather than magic. A project developing a particle accelerator, albeit on a previously unseen massive scale, could explain all of this."

Reed leans back in his seat, opening his mouth as if to dispute, before whistling.

"I'd have to agree," he admits, after a moment. Peter can't deny the way his heart flips with his approval of the theory. He basks a little in the moment, feeling the lingering surprise from Reed that he can at least somewhat keep up intellectually. Sue's smirking—both at Reed agreement and at Peter's corroboration, and honestly, that feels good too, even if he's not her main source of pride at the moment. 

Johnny rolls his eyes, walking over and sitting down at the table, and gesturing lazily for Peter to do the same. He pulls out a chair politely, sitting down across from Reed. 

"So, everyone's super smart and has a good theory. What's next?" he asks. 

"Well—" Reed begins, considering.

"—we find out who's using a particle accelerator, and deactivate it with their key."

"Oh. So, simple then, huh?" Johnny says sarcastically. 

Now it's Sue's turn to roll her eyes. Before she bites out any reply, Reed suggests, "I'd say we start by identifying possible companies with the funding or potential to develop an accelerator on this scale, and then proceed from there." 

There's silence, as all three of them think (and Johnny watches idly).

"Stark Industries," Peter says as a joke, desperately wishing for some levity to diffuse the tension prevailing in the room. Sue, Reed and Johnny look at him strangely for a second, and he cringes internally, before the two former laugh, Reed's hearty and Sue's light and chirping like a morning bird. Johnny doesn't add into their laughter, but Peter thinks he sees the corners of his mouth twitch, and that's a win in his book against Torch.

It's mostly funny because it's completely plausible, but they know even Stark wouldn't undertake a project of this degree of risk and danger.

Sue's laugh tapers out, as she suggests, "Really though, what about Alchemax?" 

Peter scrunches his nose, "Alchemax? Like, Liz Allan Alchemax? Chemicals Alchemax?" 

It doesn't fit. Alchemax doesn't work with particle accelerators, or anything really in the realm of physics last he checked. The only thing they're known for is being shady and some genetics scandal, but beyond that, Alchemax doesn't seem like it would undertake something like this.

Reed's brows tilt downward. "I don't believe we're discussing the same company. There must be discrepancies between our universes. Here, Alchemax is owned by Norman Osborn and operated by Wilson Fisk—"

"Kingpin?" Peter exclaims. Now things are beginning to make sense. 

Sue looks between the shock on Peter's face and Reed. "Do you know him in your universe?"

"Saying I know him kind of feels like an understatement. He's a mob boss that was intent on killing me for a while. Daredevil's more involved with him now, but he's not Spider-Man's number one cheerleader or anything."

"Does Spider-Man have one of those?" Johnny asks, sounding bored and leaning his chin on his palm.

" _Jonathan_ ," Sue scolds, and Peter cringes internally. He chuckles, though.

"No, not really. People don't throw rocks at me anymore, though, which is an improvement," he jokes.

Johnny's eyes widen a bit, almost imperceptibly, "People used to throw rocks at you?" 

Peter shrugs. "Yeah, a long time ago. Not, anymore, though," he emphasizes, echoing his previous statement. Sue chokes, making him look over questioningly.

"How long _have you_ been Spider-Man?" Reed asks, and Peter's heard this before. In the past when Reed asked after he let it slip he's around Johnny's age, he just gave a vague, dismissive answer. It's nice to be honest this time.

"I was 15 when I started. I'm 24 now. Almost the ten year anniversary," he realizes. "Wow. Kind of thought I'd be dead by now."

Sue looks all kinds of distressed by his statement, and he reels back when he understands what he's just said. "I am _so_ sorry. I didn't—"

Johnny sighs, lowering his elbows to the table and resting his head on the tops of his hands. "Stop. We know. It's true, anyway." 

" _Jonathan Lowell Storm_ ," Sue hisses, and even Reed winces this time.

Johnny jerks back up. "It is! Webhead himself just said it!" he gestures roughly to Peter. 

"That doesn't make it okay to—" Sue starts, shooting up from her seat to glare daggers at her brother. Reed stands, too, but far calmer than either of the Storm siblings.

"We've all had a very stressful and unfortunate day. I think we could benefit from some time apart, perhaps," he cuts in, and both Storms look at him still fuming, but biting their tongues.

Johnny groans. "I know you just mean me. I get it, I'll leave." He turns from the table, not bothering to tuck his chair back under. 

"Johnny, wait—" Reed starts.

"I'm already gone!" Johnny calls back, over his shoulder as he exits the room.

The three remaining in it watch Johnny exit, Sue's frustrated grunt the only underlying noise behind his footsteps. When he's disappeared down the hall, Sue turns to look at Peter apologetically.

"I am so sorry for my brother's behavior, Peter," she begins, but he waves her off.

"It's alright. I know it's just hot air. Plus, I get the feeling things didn't end great with this place's Peter."

Sue nods. "They were extremely close. Johnny won't tell me what happened, but I know it had to do with Spider-Man—Peter Parker's identity. I don't think he ever wanted to find it out like this," she states sadly.

Peter bites his cheek. "If it's any consolation, I don't think Peter wanted anyone to find out like this, either." 

He stares down the white hall where Johnny just exited, blazing with smothered fury. 

_What did Peter Parker do that made it all end up like this?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ha! his middle name is Lowell. what a nerd
> 
> me, shouting from the rooftops: JOHNNY STORM CARTILAGE PIERCING
> 
> i love when Peter, Sue and Reed are written as just like going off together and johnny and ben are just like ?????ok
> 
> please excuse the lack of real science here. this is a fake world where a nerd who sleeps for 3 hours a night also has spider powers. just let me liveeee
> 
> Chapter title from "New York Soul" by Jon Bellion.
> 
> xx


	5. A City that Doesn't Sleep

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> it's shower hour (in the anxious, overthinking way)

After talking it over with Sue and Reed, he decides that he'll infiltrate Alchemax tomorrow and find the coding required for a key to shut down the accelerator. He knows enough from his graduate program to fake his way as an intern (it's likely he knows far more, actually), so he'll just sneak in through a vent or something and walk around disguised until he finds the office of the project leader—a woman named Olivia Octavius ( _groan_ ). The disguise will keep him from any interrogation or seizure if he gets caught. The most they'll probably do to a dumb, bumbling intern is tell him he’s as much, and send him on his merry, coffee run way.

Reed argues, however, that he'll need backup, in case things go astray, and Sue agrees. Peter tries to assure them he's battled Kingpin alone before, and can hold his own should worst come to worst, but they still insist on having someone else accompany him. He knows it's just because their Spider-Man just lost his life to the same guy, but it's a little annoying being treated like he's a kid on his first solo mission. But because it's Reed and Sue, he acquiesces. 

Reed and Sue can't come because they're working on uncovering as much as they can about the earthquakes and accessing Alchemax's files. 

Ben's out, mostly because he's a loud, six foot tall, five hundred pound man. That's not great for stealth missions. So the only option left is—

Johnny. Again. Maybe he really is the last resort.

Sue offers to ask him herself, but he declines. He really ought to ask Johnny. He's a big boy, and can solve his big boy problems on his own, he assures. Plus, he has the feeling he and Johnny have some things to talk about, like, yesterday. 

_When the other Peter was still alive._

He retraces his steps to where he knows Johnny's room is located, losing his way a few times (the Four have a billiards room in this universe? Do they have one in his? _Who plays billiards here?_ ), but eventually finds his door, flames painted up from the bottom. 

It's closed, and maybe locked, so Peter's decides to knock. It's courteous, anyway.

He wraps quietly a couple of times, before he hears footsteps. They pad closer, taking a few seconds before the doorknob turns and the door swings open slowly. 

"Look, Sue, I'm—Oh. It's you." Johnny rubs at his face, looking regretful, before he sees it's Peter standing there. Peter cowers under his gaze. Johnny's eyes are red rimmed—he's been crying again. The hero groans.

"Can't a guy just get some time to weep in peace?" Johnny complains, nearly whining, before retreating back into his room, flopping onto his bed. He didn't say Peter could come in…but he didn't tell him to leave, either, so he enters the room. 

It's the same as before, still white and pristine, but there's something off. With his spider senses, it only takes a few seconds for Peter to spot it: the bobblehead.

In his universe, he gave it to Torch the first Christmas they were friends. They had just started working together amicably, only three months hanging out in between patrols, and exchanging gifts was a strange, undetermined territory. 

They didn't know each other that well, and they carefully avoided any implications that the other expected a gift, or that they were thinking of getting the other a gift, in case the other wasn't. 

When Christmas Day arrived, Johnny hadn't expected anything from Spider-Man. Wanting to thank the guy for looking out for him, though, he had bought him a gift card to their favorite hot dog stand—silly, but just thoughtful enough to balance it out. After the gift exchange with the rest of the Four and his nephew, he had texted Peter asking to meet up. Peter had had to decline guiltily, spending the day with May as is always tradition. 

When Johnny returned from a quick flight around the city, checking out Rockefeller square as was his tradition, he hadn't expected to find a present waiting for him, wrapped in a small gift box and sitting in his room. Reed told him it'd been delivered to the Building a few days ago, but was addressed to only be opened on Christmas, so it was only sent up today. 

When he removed the ribbon from the box, the only thing sitting in it was a Spider-Man bobblehead, and alongside it, a note.

_"Dear Matchstick,_

_I hope you don't open this early! And if you did, well,_

_I can't really do anything about that._

_Anyway, Merry Christmas, Johnny._

_Love,_

_Your Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man"_

He received a text what he assumed was immediately after Johnny opened it full of nothing but emojis, before he sent a more verbal gratitude. 

Johnny always grilled him on how he had delivered it because it wasn't postmarked and he hadn't swung by the tower, but he always let it remain a mystery.

(In reality, he had just hand delivered it as Peter Parker to the Baxter Building lobby. He knew Johnny got tons of gifts and fanmail, so it was really a shot in the dark as to whether he'd actually ever get it. Also, if he did get it, he didn't think it would ever be on Christmas, but it seemed that the Parker Luck was defunct that day, cancelled out by Johnny's own).

Peter stares at the big-headed thing, looking at its giant, moon-like eyes. Johnny rolls over, following Peter's line of vision to the desk.

"Ugh. Don't say a word. I only kept that thing because I was going to regift it," he says, voice muffled by his face's placement back into his pillow.

Peter doesn't know how to respond, and says instead, "I'm breaking into Alchemax to steal the goober tomorrow." 

"What," Johnny whispers.

"Uh," Peter fidgets, "Well, there's always some kind of code, or key, or virus or something but I never really know what it's called, so I just call it a goober." 

"Okay, and you're telling this to me why?" Johnny says, annoyed.

"Because I need you to come with me," Peter says bluntly. 

That gets Johnny to raise his head, "Are you kidding?"

Peter shakes his head.

Johnny places his head back down. "Fuck you, Peter Parker."

Peter startles. "What?" he echoes Johnny's previous response.

"I said I'll do it."

"That's not what you said," he mumbled under his breath, "but still: what?" 

Johnny pushes himself up, sitting on the bed upright. 

"If this will get you home faster, then I'll do it. Will it get you home faster?"

"Yes."

Johnny nods once, concluding. "Then I'll do it." 

"Okay," Peter replies. "We're going tomorrow morning, preferably sometime between 9:00 and 10:00."

"9:00," Johnny declares. "Let's get it over with." 

"Okay," Peter agrees. 

Johnny lies back down. The room falls silent. Peter stands there, still fidgeting, uncomfortable in Depressed Johnny's room. Should he look at Johnny, or should he look away? He should probably look away, but also, consider: the curve of his back. It's a very compelling point to him. 

Before he really can consider it, though, he breaks himself out of his reverie, and realizes that this is not his Johnny, and even if it was, staring is weird and he should definitely go. 

"Are you just going to stand there?" Johnny asks, still not moving.

"Uh—no. Bye, I'll see you tomorrow. 9:00. Yeah, bye."

He walks out the room, closing the door behind him. He gets a few yards away from Johnny’s room before he realizes: he has nowhere to go, and he's still wearing his suit. He first thinks to go ask Sue and Reed if he can sleep somewhere, but he doesn't know where they are. 

_Last resort, here he comes._

This time, when Johnny answers, he definitely whines.

"Why can't you just leave me alone?" He drags out the syllables like a little kid crying, face scrunching up.

"I don't have anywhere to sleep. Or any clothes."

"Uggggggggh," Johnny yells, stomping into his room, fumbling around, before returning to the doorway, tossing something at Peter's face. He catches it thanks to his spidey sense, but he's still surprised with the cloth in his hands. 

"T-shirt, sweatpants. The next door to the right is a guest room. There's a towel already in there so you can shower. Now, please, _please_ ," he begs, "I don't care what you do, just leave me alone." He pinches the bridge of his nose, fingers pressing over freckled skin.

Peter just gives him a small "thanks," before marching mechanically to the door Johnny said. He hears Johnny's door slam seconds later.

The room's nice, decorated with the passivity typical of guest rooms. The bed's a queen and covered with a thick comforter. He throws his mask that he's been holding onto it, then feels guilty he's throwing a dirty piece of fabric onto the clean, crisp white. There's no way to pay any retribution, though, so he just sighs and takes the clothes Johnny gave him to the shower. 

* * *

The water rolls down his back, puddling under his feet. He pulls the handle to its limit until the water's scalding, and hisses as it makes contact with the chilled bruises aching into his bones and body. After a second, though, his tensed muscles relax, and he feels the ache dissipate. 

He decides now is a good time to meditate on his current state. 

He's in another dimension, where Spider-Man (who's also named Peter Parker, and Peter hasn't mentioned it, but he's blonde? And really good looking?) is dead. Kingpin, who owns Alchemax, probably killed him. There may be other spider people out there, maybe even Cindy? He hopes for Cindy. Or Jessica. That'd be good, too.

He's going out with Johnny Storm tomorrow (not in the good way) to find the key to stop Kingpin's big plans that involve a particle accelerator, and this universe's version of Doc Ock. Knowing his luck, he's gonna have to face both of them eventually, maybe even concurrently. 

And worst of all? Johnny Storm _hates_ him. 

Maybe this world could've been not as bad if that weren't the case. He could look past Fisk, and Alchemax, and the dimension glitch, and even the bruises he now has on his ass, as long as Johnny Storm could look at him without frowning.

But Johnny Storm of the dead Peter Parker's universe hates him, so he resigns himself to moping tonight.

Just as he bumps his head against the shower wall, though, he's ambushed by neon.

Like earlier today, every single particle of his body begins to shriek, rioting and stabbing inward on itself. The pain is somewhere searing and ripping all at once, and his body feels like it's going to burst or rot, whichever comes first. Any comfort he derived from the heat is replaced with scalding, tearing pressure pulling at his existence from all directions. He can see the neon glitch and warp around him, feeling his ears with strange whispering and broken, cacophonous digital soundbites. He can barely hear himself cry out above the deafening noise.

The whole thing probably lasts a couple seconds at most, but it feels like it drags on for years, leaving him back on his ass in the shower, slamming down with a rough _thud!_ He grunts, already going to stand back up, when he hears the bathroom door slam open.

"Peter?" Johnny yells, frantic, and now he's scrambling to stand.

"I'm okay! Don't come in, I'm okay!" he shouts back, finally to his feet and peeking his head from the curtain. 

"I'm fine," he repeats, grinning sheepishly despite the aftershocks of his atoms revolting. His hair's sticking to his forehead, dripping into his eyes, but he can still see Johnny deflate from fear to anger. 

"What was that then?" 

"Ah, well," Peter starts, but is rudely interrupted by his own shout of pain as his body dissolves back into colorful rectangles. He really wishes he would shut up one of these days.

This time, he catches himself, fingers adhering to the shower wall. Johnny shouts for him again, but the glitch ends soon enough that he can shout back before Torch barges behind the curtain.

"I'm fine! _Don't_ come in!" he says, voice high and breathy.

"That is _not_ fine!" Johnny yelps. "Like, that's the opposite! Of! Fine! Why do you have such bad self preservation skills!" 

He pulls his towel from the curtain rod, quickly pulling it around his lower half. He swiftly turns the water handle off, pulling back the curtain.

"See! One piece! All good! He turns his arm, as if to demonstrate the good health of particles in his body. 

"People who are 'all good' don't light up like an 80's MTV ad! You're going to go get checked out by Sue and Reed—"

"—Fine, but first I gotta—

"—now!" Johnny finishes, shouting.

"...Put on some clothes?" Peter offers, weakly.

Johnny blinks, then flits his eyes across Peter's abdomen and bare legs. He feels Johnny's eyes roam over each muscle, each gnarled scar. He prays his blush is hidden in the red splotches the warm water caused in his body.

"Right. I'll be waiting outside," Johnny agrees, finally looking back up to his eyes and heading back for the door. Once he hears the knob click back shut, he begins to grab for the clothes on the floor.

* * *

"—complete cellular decay. Never seen anything like this," Reed says, after peering back into the microscope for what has to be the eightieth time. Peter looked once and felt like he'd seen enough, then again, maybe it was different when it wasn't your cells dying.

"Amazing," Sue remarks, voice full of awe, before wincing and looking apologetically toward Peter.

He sighs.

"It's fine." 

She smiles, before turning back excitedly to the sample. Her and Reed discuss the implications of their findings in hushed, amazed tones. Peter sits on the exam table, suddenly feeling like a little kid at the doctor's again. Either that, or a lab rat. Johnny glances at him from where he's leant against the wall, almost sympathetic.

Peter kicks his feet against the table, trying to find ways to pass the time. Maybe he could count all the glass beakers in here? He considers it, but then really thinks about just how many glass beakers are here in the lab, and abandons that thought. He'd just drive himself even more up the wall. He's asked already if he can leave, but every time, Sue and Reed just insist they need another sample, or to take another test. Next they'll have him donating platelets, or maybe even his spleen.

He exhales quietly, just as he realizes he truly has nothing to do. This is worse than the time that he sprained his wrist during an organic chem lab. It was honestly embarrassing that it even happened, but he was sleep deprived and didn't notice water that had puddled on the floor beneath the lab sink. He slipped and slammed his wrist on the edge of the hard steel, and his professor insisted he take his bruised, swollen wrist to the campus clinic for some ice at least. He would've just pretended to go on his own and instead just return to his dorm after the lab, but his partner wouldn't accept his refusal for him to accompany Peter.

He waited in the clinic for hours due to it being peak flu season, just for the practitioner to assess his wrist and realize that it was now completely fine. Sometimes he wishes he could just tell people about the healing factor without revealing his identity.

This time, something really is wrong with him, and it's actually getting worse, but staring at the walls of this lab feels strangely similar to the sensation of staring at those of the campus clinic's.

It doesn't help that he's exhausted. It's probably part side effect of the cell death, part side effect of not sleeping enough ever, part being insanely bored, part having taken a relaxing shower, and part being tired from hopping dimensions with discrepancies in time and missing his universe's actual hours for sleep. Nothing would be more embarrassing right now than falling asleep sitting upright on this table, but the way that this is going, it looks like a very likely possibility

He feels his head start to bob down, and fights to just focus on keeping his chin up. Even when he achieves that goal, however, he still can’t stop his eyes from closing. He fights constantly, and he fights hard, but as tired as he is, showered and in pajama sweats, there’s little chance he’s gonna win this one. 

Continuing to jerk his head back up every time it falls and opening his eyes when he can, he accidentally meets Johnny’s glare on one of his eyes’ passes back up to the wall. 

It takes dedication to hold a stare in such distaste as this for so long, especially after a day of mourning your ex-best friend. It probably helped if the person you were glaring at was the alternate universe equivalent of that ex-best friend, though.

Before he knows it, his eyes slide shut again, and his mind starts to grow fuzzy at the edges as he slips further, head lolling downward. He doesn't have it in him to fight it this time, and just lets himself fall deeper. Distantly, he feels his shoulders start to tilt forward and thinks, _huh, maybe that'll end up poorly_ , but his tired mind does nothing to fix it. Instead, he just lets himself fall forward, body slipping from the table, spider instincts murmuring weakly to do something, but not enough for him to do more than place his hands out to catch himself.

Before he hits the ground, though, he's intercepted by another force besides gravity, shoving him back up onto the table. The brute push causes him to startle slightly out of his haze, and he opens his eyes. 

Johnny's frowning at him, irritation clear in his eyes. Peter rubs across his face, trying to awaken any of his sense before he says something stupid he'll regret about how pretty Johnny is even when he's mad at him. 

"Alright, show's over pal. You're out of the operating theater," he tells Peter, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, and Peter really just wants to lean into his arm. He won't, because he's tired, not stupid, but the temptation to do so is considerably higher than usual. 

"Sorry, I was falling asleep—"

"You think?"

"—but I'm good now," he tries to convince Johnny, opening his eyes as wide as he can and maintaining it for a strong three seconds. Unfortunately, it looks like his argument doesn't do much to convince Torch, and he just crosses his arms. 

"That's blatantly false."

"You're blatantly false," Peter mumbles, and, damn, he does need better comebacks.

"Sue, Reed, you can oogle Peter's cells without him in the room, otherwise you're going to be observing his dead brain cells after he smacks right into the floor," Johnny directs toward his sister and brother-in-law. 

The pair looks up, seemingly just realizing the extent of the bags under his eyes and the frequency in his yawn pattern.

"Sorry, Peter! If you were tired you should've said something earlier," Sue apologizes. "We would have let you go," she insists.

"I forgot how exhausted you must be. Please excuse our ignorance," Reed adds, agreeing with Sue's sentiments.

Peter opens his mouth to respond, but Johnny stops him, instead taking hold of his hand, and pulling him to his feet. 

"He gets it: you're both very sorry. You can tell him again when he's actually awake for it."

"I'm awake," Peter grumbles, but continues to battle his eyes to stay open.

"Yeah, sure."

He doesn't try fighting Johnny on it anymore, mostly because he's too tired to think of a witty reply. In between slow blinks and words muffled like he's under water, he feels himself led out of the lab, and steered toward the elevator in the hall. 

He only realizes he's made it into the elevator once his head's resting on the cool metal of its walls, beep sounding as it passes each floor up to the residential level. He peers through his drooped lids. Johnny stands next to him, looking up at the ceiling.

Something about his sleep deprived mind must forget where he is, or who he is, because for some reason, he decides to close his eyes, lean to his left, and rest his head against Johnny's shoulder. He feels Johnny stiffen beneath him, and almost removes his cheek pressed against the soft cotton blend of his t-shirt, but Johnny just relaxes after a second, making no move to shove him off, so he just drifts back again.

Peter always likes Johnny's scent—like fire smoke, ozone, soap and cologne. Whenever he catches it in the wind, sitting up on the Lady's torch or swinging beside him as he flies, a feeling always runs through his blood, warm and crackling like embers from a flame, sparks popping and sizzling down. That rush of his system—he feels invincible. Even when they're at rest, he feels like nothing can touch them. He doesn't have to be on edge for once.

His eyes blink open when the doors do, beeping loudly. They've arrived on the residential floor, and Johnny steps out, Peter exiting a second later. 

"Come on, Webhead."

He stumbles behind Johnny's form, this time not watching his shoulders, just swallowing the fact that it's Johnny—that even in another world, there will always be a Johnny Storm for a Peter Parker—and trying to keep pace. After a handful of steps, Peter sees the telltale flames on the bottom of the door, and it takes a second to actually realize that they're back.

Finally, he can sleep. The thought makes him want to cry.

He turns from Johnny, about to continue past to his door, but he hears his name.

"Yeah?" he mumbles, looking back over his shoulder.

Call him crazy, but he's pretty sure Johnny's smiling. It's not much, but he squints, and it's hard to deny that the corners of his mouth are definitely pulled upward.

"Goodnight," Johnny says, voice lowered to a whisper, like he's already asleep.

Peter yawns, before running a hand through his hair lazily. "Goodnight, Johnny." He can't help the tried smile that spreads across his face. Without looking back, he blinks and bobs his way over to his door, pulling the handle and stepping inside the dark room. He doesn't flick the light switch, instead just heading straight for the bed

He slides under the covers slothfully. He's in the Baxter Building, in bed, wearing Johnny Storm's sweats. It's barely intimate, considering the terry cloth and cotton material and the fact that the clothes just smell like detergent and a wooden dresser drawer, but the thought of Johnny lending them to him is nice enough, and the thought of Johnny—pretty blue eyes, pretty hair, pretty voice and kind hands—is always enough.

For the first time in an indiscernible number of hours since he sat next to his Johnny on Lady Liberty's torch, Peter Parker feels true warmth. 

Rolling into his side to stare at his folded suit in the dark, he fades into sleep all at once, contemplating Johnny Storm, and tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker watching every 2000s teen movie where the love interest is a tan, sandy haired surfer boy: gee i sure hope this doesn't awaken anything in me
> 
> there's references to the movie peppered in this fic. you might catch them? idk. mostly, it's just dialogue
> 
> also ik it doesn't look it bc Sue and Reed are putting on their 'scientific shit needs to get done' faces, but they're taking Peter's death hard, too. They weren't as close as in this Peter's universe, but they had still worked with him and knew him through Johnny.
> 
> also jessica drew cindy moon i love you 
> 
> please know that most of this fic was written in 2 days and not edited. i'll go back in later and reread for edits, but i'm tired right now, man
> 
> Chapter title taken from Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York."


	6. To You and How You Brought Us Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> to alchemax we go

He wakes up the next morning far too early. It's only 6:00, so he showers, stays in the sweats but ditches the shirt. The stress buzzing at the back of his mind isn't doing him any good, so he throws it into exercise, performing variants of crunches and push ups until he works up a sweat, muscles finally growing sore. 

After, he showers again, deciding this time to put on the suit. 

By the time he steps back out of the bathroom, it's only 7:30. He huffs. 

He exits the room after remaking the bed, fluffing and setting the pillows back in place. He steps out, avoiding Johnny's room like the plague, assuming he's still sleeping, and instead heads down the hall and toward the kitchen. Ben and Reed sit at the oak table, each eating in peace. Reed reviews the daily newspaper, and as he flips the page, notices Peter walk in. 

"Good morning, Peter!" he greets, removing his readers. It attracts Ben's attention. 

"Hey, kid," he says, gruffly.

"Hey, Ben," Peter smiles. "Good to see you."

"We haven't met before," he responds, looking at Peter dubiously.

"Maybe that's true, but I know we have something in common."

The Thing looks at him, half confused, half intrigued, but says just as gruffly, "What?"

"Antagonizing Johnny," he answers, grinning.

Ben smirks back with pleasant surprise. "We'll get on just fine."

"Ben!" he hears a voice yelling, heavy footfall accompanying, "What did you do with my suit? I know you did the laundry last! Don't try to lie to me!" 

In a flash, Johnny appears in the doorway, fists clenched. "Ben!" He locks eyes with the man. "Where's my suit?" he demands. 

"See, kid?" Ben remarks to Peter. He can't help but snort. 

Johnny narrows his eyes at the pair. "What are you two co-conspirators co-conspiring about?" 

Sue walks into the kitchen, pushing past Johnny in the doorway. "You're looking for your suit?" she asks Johnny.

Johnny turns, but not before looking dirtily at Ben and Peter.

"Yeah," he responds.

"It got thrown in with my laundry. I left it in your room for you." 

"Thank you, Sue," he smiles exaggeratedly, squeezing his eyes nearly closed in fake gratitude, "at least some of us are civilized and compassionate beings," he hisses, whipping his head over his shoulder to Ben and Peter.

"Yeah, kid, maybe you could learn something from this," Ben snarks, and Johnny leaves the room, yelling his frustration down the hall. Peter snickers.

Sue offers Peter french toast, and he can't decline. Ben excuses himself after a while, bidding Peter goodbye and making him promise to annoy Johnny in his absence. Half an hour later, he's two pieces in, when Johnny returns. Eyeing the clock, he sees it's already 8:30. Johnny sits at the table, and Sue serves him without even asking, and he digs in robotically. 

Johnny's eyes are rung by bags—nothing too deep, but enough to signal that he didn't sleep well last night. He fights a yawn in between bites of his breakfast, sipping his juice. Peter eyes his throat as he gulps, throat bobbing. His mouth goes dry, and he averts his eyes almost immediately after he realizes what he's doing.

When Johnny finishes, it's 8:45. Peter's ready to go, but Johnny goes to retrieve his boots from his room. While Johnny disappears back down the hall, Reed hands Peter a device across the table. It's rectangular and thin, with the blue case glowing screen.

"It's our official, patented Fantastic Four Phone. I programmed Sue, Ben, Johnny and my numbers into it. If you need anything or see something, don't hesitate to call," he says seriously.

Peter nods, smiling slightly. "Thank you, Dr. Richards."

"Peter, it's Reed. When you get to the dimensional anomaly point of the relationship, I've heard that's first name basis," he jests. 

"Okay, Reed. Give my thanks to Dr. Storm as well." 

Reed chuckles. "She may not let that one go."

"She deserves it," Peter insists, and Reed hums in amused agreement.

Johnny passes back into the doorway, but stops at the threshold. "You coming, Spider-Man?" he asks, watching Reed and Peter joke. 

Peter stands up from the table, pushing his chair back in and crossing over to where Johnny stands. The man in question turns and heads for the elevator, already pressing the button by the time Peter arrives next to him. The cobalt elevator doors slide open, and Johnny steps in. Peter follows, mask in hand. The doors slide shut.

When the elevator begins upward, Johnny peers down at the fabric. "You might want to put that on," he suggests.

"Oh. Right." Peter pulls in over his face, flexing his face out of instinct underneath to test its comfort. He feels his lenses widen and narrow, and knows everything's in place. He looks over after it's set, spotting Johnny staring at him, lips parted.

"You okay?" he asks.

"...Yeah," Johnny replies, looking back at the metal in front of him. Peter does too, after a second.

* * *

They arrive at the top floor, and Johnny wastes no time soldiering on up the stairs, opening the door to the roof. Peter steps out into the crisp November breeze, closing his eyes, feeling his lungs expand, filled with New York's own air composition (nitrogen, oxygen, smoke, hope). His eyes shoot back open when he hears the beep of a car unlocking. 

“Alright,” Johnny says, nearing the driver’s seat of the cockpit of the Fantasticar. 

This fantastic is solid white chrome, shaped with wings, and striped with Fantastic Four Blue and the insignia. The glass dome that forms the roof of the cockpit glows with an interface; Johnny's really kicked up his designs a notch in this world. 

The seats are royal blue leather, and as Peter slides into the passenger side, he feels that they're heated. He presumes Johnny doesn't use the feature, running naturally hot, so it's very considerate for him to add it. 

Once Johnny himself gets in, he pulls the belt over his lap and shoulder, clicking it in firmly. Peter follows suit, mirroring the action. When they're both belted and faced forward, Johnny adjusts the mirror, ready for takeoff. 

"Hudson Valley's, what, ninety, one-hundred miles from here?"

"Yeah, around 97-ish," he confirms.

"We'll be there in like 5 minutes, then," Johnny nods.

Peter gawks at him. "Wow, that was some quick math."

"...I only knew that because I went to a party there last weekend," Johnny confesses, "Don't be too amazed." 

"Oh," Peter says, trying not to sound disappointed. It would've been cool for Torch to be a human matchstick _and_ calculator, but you can't have it all. This guy's still a math-avoidant socialite, then.

Torch doesn't notice, or just doesn't care, instead focusing on turning on the engine and adjusting the controls. 

"Okay, we're lifting off in five…"

Johnny counts down, vehicle slowly beginning to hover, and when he reaches zero, the vehicle jolts forward, soaring through the air at light speeds. Inside the cockpit, though motion feels normal. The only indication of intense speed is the outside view, barely more than a blur.

"It's a nice car," Peter comments, filling in the silence.

"Yeah? What's your Johnny up to with these? Three?"

"...Yeah. How'd you know?"

Johnny gives him a strange look from the corner of his eye. "Same person, remember?"

Peter shrugs. "Not necessarily."

" _'Not necessarily_ ,'" Johnny mocks, "You said that last night, too. About more spiders being in New York."

"Yeah, I did," he agrees, because it's true.

"Well?" Johnny presses, holding one palm up to the air and off of the wheel. 

"...It's possible. Sue was right when she said it could be anything, anyone…"

"...But?"

"...But, I think Reed also made a good point. It's too coincidental. Out of everyone in the universe, the rift pulled me. If it pulled or is going to pull others, it makes sense that it'll go for people like me," he explains. 

"Huh," Johnny says, "couldn't it just be targeting nerds named Peter Parker then?" 

Peter frowns, but perks in thought, "I know that was supposed to be mean, but it's a good point. It could legitimately only be targeting specific people. It might be aimed for Peters across the multiverse. That would explain why Cindy or Jessica aren't here…" he trails off in contemplation.

Johnny waves a hand in his face. "Hey, Spider-Man. Don't zone out on me, or else I'll dip this car so fast your head will spin," he threatens.

"I dare you."

"Really? I will.

"Okay, I totally don't dare you. I don't want whiplash, please."

Johnny 'hmmph's haughtily. "That's what I thought you'd say." 

Peter looks at him, and he's _smiling_. _What?_

This Johnny's supposed to hate him, but instead they're bantering like old buddies. And it's _nice._

Peter misses hearing Johnny's voice cracking quips and witty insults against him. He knows it was only yesterday (maybe?) that his Johnny did so, but that feels like so long ago. Hearing Johnny's voice making jokes, even at his expense, makes him feel like he's back home.

He smiles warmly, and turns to quip back, but Johnny curses first.

"We're getting close, and I don't actually know what we're doing. So, what's the plan?" His face hardens into something more concentrated, serious and Peter wants to cruise himself.

"Sue left me a change of clothes in the pack. I'm going to sneak in disguised as an intern, find Octavius' office while she's in the meeting scheduled for her today, download whatever onto the goober, sneak back out, find the accelerator, sneak into where it's being held, shut it down with the goober, and then get the heck out of dodge before anyone notices." 

"Okay…Where do I figure in all of this?" 

Peter rubs his neck. "Get away driver?" he replies.

Johnny doesn't look amused. "Really."

"I'd rather go in alone. One unrecognizable intern is ignorable, but two unrecognizable interns is a problem."

Johnny grunts. "Alright. I'll play lookout. But be careful, you goober."

Peter gawks. _A nickname? A mean nickname? Wow._ Progress was coming on lightning fast.

"Okay, we're landing in a few seconds. We'll have to commute by foot a bit just so our big jet speed hovercraft doesn't raise any flags, so I hope you don't mind hoofing it."

Peter frowns. "Can't I just web, and you fly?"

Johnny matches his expression, "Do you find flying with flames or webs to be terribly inconspicuous?"

Okay, yeah. That's a good argument.

"Brace yourself," Johnny warns.

They make impact, craft slowing beforehand, and it's considerably smoother than his Johnny's current landing ability in the third Fantasticar. At least, it doesn't feel like his brain's rattling in his skull by the end.

When the craft finally stills, Johnny turns off the interface and pops both the dome and trunk, hopping out. Peter follows suit, heading for where Sue stuffed the pack.

When he unzippers the duffel, he finds what essentially was his uniform for his Stark internship. Solid color button up, slim fit dress pants, tie, dress shoes and lab coat.

Regressing into his lowly, unpaid grunt-work state of mind, he begins to detach and slip off his boots, cringing when his bare feet touch the snow. From behind him, Johnny yelps.

"Woah! Warn a guy before you start to strip, would ya?" He covers his eyes, turning his head. Peter roll his eyes.

"You saw me in the shower yesterday."

"With a towel on!"

"I've only taken off my boots?"

"But more's coming!"

"How are briefs worse than a towel? They're like shorts."

"Wow, I'm learning a lot about Spider-Man's view on public decency today."

Peter can't help but scoff. Johnny has his back turned, standing near one of the many thin tree trunks in the forest around them.

"I'll tell you when I'm done," he tells Johnny, receiving a 'whatever,' in reply.

Quickly, he pulls on the pants, shirt and coat. The shoes he slips on gratefully, and ties up the laces. Sue was also gracious enough to pack something he's been missing sorely since yesterday: glasses. He slides the sleek, rectangular frames onto his face, glad he can finally see since he took out his contacts this morning and had to throw them away.

"Okay, I'm done," he calls out, and Johnny turns around, eyes still covered with his hand. Peter glares. 

"I'm actually done." 

Johnny removes his hand slowly, grinning at his own joke, before his face falls slack a moment later. Peter's heart drops cold.

"What?" he inquires, biting his lip, "do I look bad?" When he caught glimpses of himself in his blackened laptop screen in the midst of his Stark internship, he always used to curse the way a day at work in his regular lab assistant garb would make him look like a ruffled geek. He wouldn't be surprised if he looks the same now, maybe even more tired than he was then.

"No," Johnny says quietly, still looking at him with wide eyes.

"Uhhh, then, can we go?"

Johnny blinks a few times, before swallowing and looking at the keys in his hand. He locks the Fantasticar, twice. That seems to unfreeze him, and he steps toward Peter.

"Not yet," he murmurs, and, woah, his hands coming awfully close to Peter's face.

Peter stills, breath caught in his throat. His pulse thunders in his veins like a woodpecker on speed. Johnny's hand brushes past his cheek, and he shivers, closing his eyes—

_What is he waiting for?_

—when he feels a hand ruffle through his hair, brushing his loose curls over. His eyes snap open, and Johnny steps back, admiring his work.

"There, now you look like a perfect, stressed little nerd. You'll fit right in with the other kids," he teases, but Peter just frowns, flushing hotly.

"Whatever," he says, unable to steel the bitterness from his voice, "let's just go." He begins walking forward at a brisk pace. He hears Torch's rapid footfalls as he jogs to catch up.

"Hey! Wait up!" 

* * *

They walk through the woods in silence. It's nearly unbearable, only listening to the brush of the snow and twigs beneath their feet and occasional birdsong, but Peter's determined to hold his ground.

He has no right to be angry, at least he tries to tell himself that. This isn't his Johnny, and even his Johnny doesn't owe him anything. He doesn't know how Peter feels (which is totally on Peter, anyway), and was just making a joke normal to their relationship. It's not this Johnny's fault that he can't control his feelings for his friend like a little twelve year old girl.

He just can't shake the way Johnny looked. Staring right at him, face drawn in a confident grin, almost smirking. His freckles dotted all across his face, dusting heavily on his cheeks and over his nose. Those electric blue eyes focused on only him, moving closer and closer. The brush of his fingertips on his cheek, warm and solid; _real_.

He had to realize, though. None of this was real.

Johnny Storm was far beyond Peter Parker's league. His Johnny was literally world's away and had no idea who he was. This Johnny was just missing his buddy and desperate for someone to make fun of. 

There was no reason to be hurt.

And yet… 

By the time they reach the edge of the woods, he's almost resolved to try not to be mad, and maybe apologize to Johnny, or at least say two words to him, but his words wash away when he sees the building: Alchemax.

His eyes narrow. It may be a different location and a different look, but it's the same shady corporation. Only this one is hiding something. His spidey sense is rattling off like a blaring alarm. 

"So, I wait here for you to go in, then walk back to the Fantasticar and then wait there?" Johnny asks.

He nods affirmatively. "Yeah. If you could keep it going, too, that'd be idea—" he's interrupted by a glitch, this one short, but particularly strong. He stumbles, but Johnny catches him before he falls. The blonde man looks at him in concern, but he pushes away, standing back onto his feet and waving him off in an 'I'm fine' motion.

Johnny grits his teeth, but ignores it like Peter's requested. "Got it. You'll be good in there?"

"Yeah. Nothing I haven't done before."

"Great. Well, on you go," Johnny motions outward.

He looks one last time at the autumn leaves above, dusted finely with snow. Back in the direction of the Fantasticar, where their footprints trail in the snow, and then finally at Johnny, looking at him confidently, sun-lit blond locks framing his face like a halo. There's so much he wants to say.

"See ya," he decides on, unable to speak much else. He turns to swing out into the forest leading behind the company building, webbing up high into the trees. 

He swings widely, developing a rhythm. If he does it long enough, it starts to sound like a song. He's tried to sing along to it before, admittedly, but he doesn't have much of a voice, and the few he got caught, reviews from the public were highly critical. It feels good to feel the brush of the wet leaves, though he tries to avoid dampening his white lab coat too much, lest his disguise become compromised. He expects to be anxious about this, but the only thing vibrating in him is excited, nervous energy. It's been a while since he's done something on this scale. It's nice to have a mission.

Only halfway to his destination, however, and the situation changes.

He hears the beams of a swarm of lasers in the distance, sourced from the Alchemax building. He knows that sound because he's heard it right behind him—a result of his own lack of stealth when it counted—far too many times.

Following the barrage of laser fire though, are two figures, sprinting across the glass-lined deck.

Peter falters in his swinging, almost smacking face first into a birch but saving himself, because leaping from the platform is a man, shouting at the kid behind him, undeniably suited from head to toe in a red and blue spider costume.

Now either Peter's looking in a strange, long distance mirror, or he's just found a fellow anomaly. 

The two figures—the man and the kid, fling toward the treeline, and all he can think is: _Johnny_.

He's probably not even back to the Fantasticar yet, and his hearing isn't enhanced, so he won't even know that anyone's coming, and he'd rather these two spiders not be the ones to alert him.

Claiming branch by branch with his webs, he swings back rapidly, clearing the same distance he just trekked in half the time, but the guy and the kid and the scientists tailing them are already well past the treeline. He maintains a path to the right of where he can hear they're swinging, listening closely for the sound of Johnny's footsteps. 

Once he's passed the guy and the kid (what's holding them up?) and ignored the jolt to his system (and the overwhelming urge to remark 'they're just like me,'), he bounds forward, skipping three trees at a time, until Johnny is within reach. 

"Johnny!" He shouts, causing the blonde hero to look up from where he treads forward in the snow. 

"Spidey?" 

He swoops down, grabbing Johnny around his side, swinging with him now tucked close, toward the Fantasticar.

Johnny squirms, yelping. "Hey! What gives! You already stopped the goober?"

He fights the urge to correct Johnny’s botched terminology. "No!" he yells over the rush of the wind. Johnny tucks his arm around his shoulder, supporting himself better.

"Then why are we swinging back?!" 

He can hear shouting behind them.

"I found the other anomalies!"

Johnny's eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Where are they?!" 

Peter nudges his head backward. "Behind us, fighting a bunch of scientists!"

Johnny frowns, looking at him strangely. "Shouldn't we be helping them?" 

"Should we?" Peter asks, frantic panic finally melting onto his face.

"Yes!" Johnny cries like it's obvious, before looking down toward the ground. "Drop me!" he demands.

Peter bites his cheek hard, trying not to flinch at the memory of a body cascading down limply below him, but does as Johnny instructs anyway. 

"Flame on!" Johnny cries, whipping back up into the air full of flames just as quick as he falls. Peter swings in an arc toward the direction of the fight behind them.

"I'll lead!" he directs Johnny over his shoulder.

"Right behind you!" Johnny affirms.

He hears the swish of the air in his ears, alongside the whipping of flames, eventually blurring into the same volume as the shouts of distress in front of them. He spots them—the man and the boy, being tailed by a woman with mechanical arms and—oh, _there's Doc Ock_.

He watches the pair soar forward, pretty well in sync. He admires the way they seem to function together—a good team is hard to find, making his and Johnny's duo all the more special. It's remarkable that two spiders, even with an age gap were able to make that—

He cries out suddenly, losing his momentum in swinging and tumbling downward.

"Peter!" he hears above him, seeing a flash of Torch's fire, but his vision's mostly consumed by the glitching, dimensional warp flashes, and it's hard to focus around the pain.

He catches himself a second later before he hits the ground, though, swinging back around again. Disorientation makes him lose sight of the other spiders until he spots Johnny.

"Other way, Spidey!" he yells, circling like he's herding Peter, and he swings back in that direction. 

They're just circling back, closer than before, when he sees what's become of the two. They're webbed tightly in the trees, almost hammocked.

 _But who did_ that _?_

He gets his answer when another spider lands gracefully in the branches in front, removing her mask in one, artful tug. From her movements, and the way she holds herself so carefully yet powerfully (and also the shoes on her feet), he can tell she must do ballet. He’s probably about to hear as much.

_Convenient to intrude upon these introductions._

As he swings in only a few feet away, Johnny follows, careful to hover above the trees so as to prevent a forest fire. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he can hear Smokey the Bear.

He lands— not even half as poised as the spider girl—realizing in that instant that he's the only one not wearing his suit. Although, that kid doesn't look like he's wearing a real one, after closer inspection, so he feels a bit better.

All three of the other spiders' heads whip to look at him.

"Who are _you_?" the boy asks, before the four of them blink into space, suddenly hit by a wave of familiarity.

"You're like me," they speak in unison.

Peter shakes out the strange sense of self déjà vu. "I'm Peter Parker."

"But wasn't—and aren't," he starts to say, looking at the older guy, and wow, now that Peter's looking at him, that's strange.

His first thought is 'that looks like my dad,' and his second thought is, 'wait, no, that's me but not, and he looks like dad because he's dad's son too.' He can't suppress the shudder that rolls up his spine. 

The guy looks tired—but not in the energy way, in the sad, life kind of way (Peter sees that in the mirror from time to time, too), and frankly? Kind of out of shape, but that's mean, so he keeps that one locked up. 

"He can explain on the way. We have to get out of here now!" other Peter Parker exclaims impatiently, and begins to web aways, but not before catching his eye as if to say 'you're coming, right?'

The girl isn't looking at him at all anymore, instead focusing on the sky where Johnny's hovering. "The Human Torch," she recognizes, before snapping out of it when she hears the oldest spider yell again.

It's just him and the youngest (he assumes) left. The kid turns to him, wide eyes still.

"You'll follow us, right?" he asks, and Peter has no power to say no to those eyes. 

"Yeah, we'll be following," he nods.

"We'll?" the boy asks, confused, before being grabbed by a web and flung away. Peter sees him spot Johnny in the sky before he's out of sight, though.

Once the others have covered some ground, he begins to swing after.

"Spidey!" Johnny yells down, "where are you going?"

"Not sure! I need to follow these guys, though," he shouts back up.

"I have to take the Fantasticar back!" Johnny replies. "Text me when you have more details!"

"Alright!"

"Good luck, Spidey!"

"Stay safe, flame brain!"

He thwips, and in a flash, Johnny's disappeared from the visible sky. The autumn leaves brush into his skin, trailing behind as he pursues the other spiders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> johnny: i am looking away
> 
> see if u can catch the Peter B. reference in the first few lines. this peter isn't perfect by any means, but every peter makes every other peter feel a little worse in some way.
> 
> other spiders!!! it's the gang!!! finally!!! i missed them, and i'm glad to write them. maybe not well, but i'm glad to write them.
> 
> Chapter title taken from "An Open Letter to NYC," by the Beastie Boys (the only song in existence)
> 
> xx


	7. On the Number Ten Bus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright, people. Let's do this one last time.

He catches up with the group of fellow spiders as they arrive at the bus stop just in time, ready to board. The bus driver remains unfazed as four people of almost completely different ages and appearances board in spandex. Then again, New York's been through a weird couple of days, and New York's weird in general, so it makes sense he's not surprised.

(God, how could anyone live anywhere but this city?)

The other three shuffle onto the empty bus, into the back-middle seats. The kids sit across from each other, looking at him expectantly, while the older Peter sprawls out behind them.

He chooses to sit behind the kids, opposite the older Peter. As soon as he makes contact with the seat, older Peter points at him from where he's resting, without even looking up.

"You, start talking."

Peter frowns, unsure of how to start. "Can I at least know everyone's name's first? I'd say it'd compromise identity, but we're all kind of masks off already, so."

"I'm Miles Morales," the youngest, store-bought-costumed kid pipes up. "I'm the newest Spider-Man!" he adds, excitedly, and Peter loves the kid already. 

"Gwen Stacy, Spider-Woman," the girl says, and hold on, did she really say _Gwen Stacy?_ How didn't he see it before? It was partially due to the punky hair and piercings, but the eyes, voice, teeth, style: it's all Gwen. His mouth forms an 'o,' before he quickly shuts it. She regards him with a weird look. 

The guy in the back waves his hand back to himself in introduction, drawing away their gazes from each other and onto him. "Peter B. Parker, Spider-Man."

Same middle name, cool. Although, B could stand for something else. He felt like it probably was Benjamin still, though. 

Their eyes fall back on him. He clears his throat. 

"Peter Parker, Spider-Man, and I'm not from this dimension," he confesses quietly, unable to be heard over the thrum of the bus engine, but loud enough for spider hearing.

> _Alright, people. Let’s do this one last time._
> 
> _My name’s Peter Parker. I was bitten by a radioactive spider nearly ten years ago, and ever since then, I’ve been one of New York’s spider people._
> 
> _You probably know the rest. I fell in love, graduated high school, saved the city, started college, saved the city again, couldn’t save the girl, met M.J., found out certain…preferences I have, finished my bachelor's, saved the city_ again _—this time, with a new group of friends—started grad school, and maybe found a more-than-friend._
> 
> _Sure, life gets pretty busy, but at the end of the day, I love being New York’s Spider-Man, even if the city doesn’t always love me._
> 
> _Even if it really, really hates me sometimes._
> 
> _Yesterday was one of those days._

"What have you been doing this whole time if you warped in yesterday?" the girl—Gwen (that's still weird)—asks. 

Peter cards a hand through his hair. "Well, I didn't know where to go, so I ended up asking the Fantastic Four for help, and they pointed me in the direction of Alchemax, and here I am."

"So that _was_ the Human Torch," Spider-Gwen notes, sounding vindicated. Peter's about to inquire as to why she recognizes the Human Torch, and if he's the same in her universe, but Miles pipes up first.

"Woah, woah, woah. You had backup? From that fire guy and his friends?" Miles asks Peter in disbelief, and he nods truthfully.

Miles looks back at Peter B.. "Where was your backup?" he asks, frowning pointedly.

Peter B. shrugs, eyes closed. "Spider-Man is kind of a single arachnid. He doesn't do team-ups."

"Then what do you call this?" Gwen asks.

Peter B. opens one eye, looking at her pointedly. "A _mentorship_." He lays his head back down, reclosing his eyes.

Peter shakes his head in silent disagreement, frowning at the older man. The kids laugh at the anguished expression he must be making, and he can't help but join them quietly.

"How old are you? You don't look that different from the Peter from this universe," Gwen comments.

"I don't know. His nose is kind of different, and his hair's brown and curly. And his eyes are brown too. Actually, _he_ looks closer to him than this universe's Peter," Miles argues, motioning back to the now sleeping Peter B.. 

"I meant in age," Gwen elaborates.

"Oh, yeah. That's true," Miles agrees.

"I just turned 24 in August," he provides. "Two years younger than the other Peter. He actually had probably just finished his graduate's degree; poor guy," he realizes, frowning.

Gwen and Miles look at him solemnly, unsaid grief hung heavy in the air. 

"What do you study?" Miles asks after a moment of silence, curiosity lacing his tone. It's enough to break through the sudden pressing feeling of morbidity, and Peter smiles at the kid's cheering ability.

"Quantum physics, actually. So basically what we're living right now."

"Like Doctor Octavius' video," Gwen states, and he can't keep the disgust from running across his face.

"Ugh, Doc Ock is the worst."

"She's in your world, too?" Miles asks over the back of his seat.

"She's a guy in my world, but they seem to be equally crazy. What about you, Gwen? You have a Doc Ock?"

Gwen shakes her head. "Not that I've met." 

He hums, but doesn't add anything. Looking at the man opposite him reminds him how tired he is. He didn't sleep that well the night before despite good accomodations, and he's probably not going to have many chances from here out to sleep. Tired college student Peter Parker is always scouting for places to take a quick nap, and his alarm bells are ringing right now.

"Hey guys, I think I'm gonna take a short nap. We have some time. Hope that's okay," he tells the kids. Both of them look at him, staring away from their windows, and give their blessing, making eye contact with each other and beginning a conversation of their own.

He smiles as he hears them beginning to chat. He can tell that the two will be good friends; Gwen was always a good companion, and she would especially be one for a kid like Miles with a lot of spirit.

Soon, he's lulled to sleep, watching out the window as the fading autumn scenery rolls by, clouded with banks of snow. He listens to the quiet murmur of the kids, bump of the road and the constant hum of the bus engine below him, serving as the background to the soft breaths of sleep that soon escape him.

* * *

He doesn't know how long it is since he fell asleep when he wakes up, but the bus is still going. It has to be less than an hour because of the fact, probably only being a half hour at most.

Both the kids and Peter B. are alert right now, so they must be getting close to their stop. He yawns, drawing the others' attention.

"Hey," he greets as he finishes his yawn.

"Finally, you're awake," Peter B. says, "Thought we were going to have to web and roll you out of here." 

He rolls his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. Pretty sure we're the last people to be giving lectures on sleep." Peter B. doesn't respond, but the look in his eyes speaks to begrudging agreement.

As his brain turns back on, he realizes he forgot to text Johnny earlier, he pulls the phone Reed gave him this morning from his pocket, unlocking it and sending Johnny a quick message that he was alright, before pocketing it again. 

"Is that a phone?" Spider-Gwen inquires. "Where'd you get one of those?"

"The Four gave it to me. I guess you wouldn't have one, though, because your _mentor_ thinks that ' _Spider-Man is a single arachnid_ ,'" he mocks the older man's earlier words receiving an unamused glare in response.

"Hey," he continues, ignoring Peter B., "where are we going? I told Johnny I'd tell him, and I realize I still haven't asked."

"May's house," Peter B. says quietly, and although he's trying to conceal it, and probably does so successfully from the kids, Peter can hear the dread in his voice.

"What? May's house?" Peter repeats, hardly believing his ears. How could they go see May?

Peter recalled vividly the day they lost Ben. May was a force to be reckoned with, always so strong and stable. She could never be knocked down, nothing could shake her.

At least, that's what Peter had believed.

That horrible day when the police came knocking on their door, Peter saw what grief did to his aunt, and even recalling the memory made him sick to his core.

He never wants to see it again in her eyes as long as he lives: grief, helplessness, hopelessness.

May in this dimension just lost her Peter; her son. She must be heartbroken beyond belief and he's not ready to face that. He wasn't on the first day he landed here, and he'll never be ready for it in his life.

Despite his shock, the other man restates, "We have to go see May. It's the only place Peter would've left his blueprints to this thing." He waves around a busted goober. It must've been original Peter's, now mangled and cracked in half.

Peter scoffs, not understanding how Peter B could even suggest something like that. He must have it backed up somewhere else; somewhere he frequented on a greater scale. "We can't go see May! You don't think he would've left any traces of the key at his apartment?"

"You mean his apartment with M.J.?" Peter B points out, "You really think _we_ should go see _M.J._ right now?" 

Peter opens his mouth to argue, but then catches Peter B's critical gaze. Okay, maybe that's true. "Point taken," he admits. 

He can imagine her face, opening the door to see four different people, all in spider print spandex, two vaguely sharing her dead husband's face.

_Face it, tiger…You just hit the jackpot!_

Yeah, maybe not. 

"Uhhh, guys? I feel like you're saying words that aren't actually coming out of your mouths so I don't have the full picture, but I'm voting to go see Aunt May," Miles pipes up, glancing between the two older men.

Spider Gwen crosses her arms. "I'm voting May, too." 

Peter B looks at him pointedly, and Peter wants to smack the cockiness off his tired, unshaven face probably as much as the man wanted to smack it off of Peter's tired, clean-shaven face earlier. 

All three pairs of eyes look at him expectantly. He clenches his fist, veins shaking in protest. 

"...Fine. But I don't like it," he finally submits. 

Miles lips tug up, pleased that they seemed to have all reached agreement, and it almost makes the dread he feels creeping up his spine worth it. 

The bus pulls into the stop moments later, and as he gets off, he can't shake the sense that he's not going to like the direction this is heading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Peter, looking at small Miles and Gwen, forgetting he was 15 when he was bit: i can't believe these small children have been put in so much danger by the universe smh 
> 
> peter to peter b is just like please can we talk about our issues in vague terms please I've been dying to talk about our shared issues in vague terms
> 
> how can u write anything about MJ without including her best--nay--The best line in comic history
> 
> Chapter title taken (again) from "An Open Letter to NYC," by the Beastie Boys
> 
> Next: to May's house we go!


	8. Too Few of Our Old Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's no place like home. except home in an alternate universe. and home in all the other alternate universes. okay, so there might be another place like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello, friends :)

Their new, merry band swings for a while to get to May's house in Queens. In between quips and conversation blended with the night air, he realizes they're all swinging instinctively toward the same spot, but it pays off, because the house is exactly where his May's is, windows all aglow with warm, orange light. The only noticeable difference is that this house is surrounded by different colored houses than his May's, and the one they seek is surrounded by gifts, flowers, candles that glow in the night's darkness, and shrines. Those, he suspects, will soon be blowing in the November wind, howled onto the stairs and lawn, ready to be stumbled over. He can only imagine how much it must be annoying May to have a potential hazard around her porch, especially considering her lectures to him as a kid about how many elderly people came into the E.R. because they tripped and fell on things others left on the floor. He hopes when she answers the door, she doesn't slip on something because she can't see it in the dark.

May shouldn't have so many hazards in front of her like this, and especially not because of _him_.

Then he reminds himself _: wrong Peter, not your May_ , and _danger, Will Robinson: your strange, sad childhood trauma's still pinned right on your back!_

Despite the self-shaming, he still can't kick the desire to shove all the flowers and papier mâché Spider-Man masks straight to the curb. If Spider-Man can die in this universe, then May accidentally tripping on a well-intentioned memorial offering isn't too unrealistic. Even if this isn't his May, he can't help but worry for her like she is.

If _he's_ struggling, though, he can't imagine he looks any worse than Peter B., whose jaw clenches so tight the muscles in his neck are shaking.

The guy looks absolutely petrified standing in front of Aunt May's house. No one going to see May should look that scared unless they're walking in with a dislocated shoulder that needs to be set back into place. (He's had her do it before—he'd let a big, green Banner have a go at it before he had her do it again). Peter B. webs the doorbell from where they stand a few yards away, him, Peter, Miles and Gwen, all awaiting what's behind that white door. 

"We—we should probably go," he suggests instantly, nerves leaking through into his words. 

"Peter, we're literally on the doorstep," Spider-Gwen reminds in a low tone. 

Peter B.'s silent for a beat, before he turns and begins to stalk off in the other direction. Peter almost wants to follow him, but stays put. Spider-Gwen webs the older man right back to where he was standing, anyway. 

He wants to contribute his own words of reassurance, but a voice filters through the door first, shadowed figure accompanying in the lit, circular glass window.

"You guys are all very sweet, but no more fans today, please," Aunt May says, tiredly. It pulls him back to the days following Ben's death, hearing her accept flowers and meals from their friends and neighbors and trying to reach out to him through the wall he was slowly bricklaying between him and the world. 

Every atom in him wants to apologize for causing her that pain and the pain she's in now. He wishes it would mean anything.

The door cracks open gingerly, warm, orange light spilling onto the blackened and blued porch. He doesn’t notice any of it though—may as well be standing in his own dimension—because he’s hit with the sudden wave of _May_. 

He's smacked with his lack of preparation. He hadn't even stopped to let himself consider how much he misses his May, and how she probably has no idea he's even missing right now. Johnny doesn't know he even has family, so there's no way to relay that information, which wouldn't be a problem if Peter, y'know, could just say F.I.L.D.I. and share the barest of details or vital information with the guy he's been best friends with for two years. But, of course, his name is Peter Barelyfunctioning Parker for a reason, and he can’t get those stupid words out of his dumb, idiot mouth.

This May looks outwardly average—face courteously drawn into a tolerant smile—but Peter knows her tells. Beyond the physical, she looks tired, like she’s been snapped in two once again, but this time shouldered with publicity. It’s overwhelmingly wrong on her. May’s not one for celebrity, and never should have to be. _Wrong, wrong, wrong._

“I’m not ready for this,” Peter B. mumbles, and Peter doesn’t even have to look at him to know it’s through a grimace. May’s cane clatters to the ground, bouncing off the stone step.

“...Peter?” she asks, soft voice still piercing in the dusky silence. Her face falls slack with disbelief as she approaches the man, tentatively cradled with something that sounds like hope. She reaches out, hand tentative like it may just cut right through him.

“Hey Aunt May... So this is going to sound crazy... but I’m pretty sure that I’m from an-” Peter B. starts and his voice softens in a way that doesn't bother to hide the weariness.

“— an alternate dimension," May finishes.

"Yeah," Peter B. says. May touches his face, awe clear on her own. He absorbs her touch. 

"You look tired, Peter," May returns in a tone concerned as much as it urges her nephew to take care of himself. He's all too familiar with it.

And like Peter himself would, Peter B. deflects: "Well, I am tired." He stumbles through a weak laugh like it should be a joke, but it carries more confessional relief than humor.

"And older," May continues, "and thicker." She moves her hands to the lapels of his jacket, and even if the comment is critical, he has no doubt the other Peter feels the same spark of _Home_ seeing May fuss over him. 

"Yeah, I’ve heard that already," Peter B. snaps back, offense weaving into his posture. 

"Oh, geez, are those sweatpants?" 

Peter almost cracks wise, glad to be free of the receiving end for once, but Gwen beats him to the punch.

“Yup, that’s what they are.”

It’s less of a wisecrack or even an admonishment and… sadder than Peter expects. One glance at Spider Gwen’s deflated posture and the bittersweet twist of her expression and he gathers enough to sleuth it out. 

_Poor kid_.

Just as soon as his own heart begins to pang with empathy, though, does May’s gaze move to where he stands besides Miles. It’s a similar look to the one Peter B. received, albeit struggling in the opposite direction. If Peter B.’s a reminder of the years her Peter will never have, he’s a reminder of the ones he did, both nostalgic and painfully terminated. May moves softly away from Peter B., approaching Peter and stalling, before huffing a laugh.

“They really pulled out a whole gaggle, huh?” she offers, and Peter smiles back sadly. 

“Hi, Aunt May,” he greets quietly, and leans into her touch as she brushes her hand from his hair to his cheek. She gives him a once over, and the wrinkle in her brow line returns.

“You’re so thin. Am I not feeding you?”

He chuckles quietly, shaking his head minutely and feeling her calloused palm brush against his cheek.

“I’m fine, May. You feed me just fine.”

Her smile still holds a mournful quality like she’s trying to savor the moment, but it’s a little lighter now. Distantly, Peter considers that he should feel guilty, springing fresh grief upon May like this, but he can’t bring himself to care; the relief of familiarity is too overwhelming. But like all good spells, the magic breaks a moment later.

Miles steps forward, and May’s hand draws back. Peter misses the touch as soon as it leaves, but focuses on what Miles begins to say.

“I was there... when it all happened.” He pauses, before continuing slowly, “I am…so sorry?” Peter winces internally. He’d wondered how Miles had been brought into this all, and hoped it was just some chance encounter with a wayward radioactive spider, but it’s just a spider’s luck to be drawn into a mess like that. All he prays is that Miles wasn’t witness to anything too terrible. Wilson Fisk isn’t known to spare brutality.

May doesn’t lose her smile, instead now looking additionally amused. It appears he isn’t the only Parker instantly convinced of the kid. Next to her, Peter B. watches intently, looking startled from a daydream, and Peter wonders if he looks the same.

“And what dimension are you from?”

“Brooklyn,” Miles answers, before shifting to futz around with his pocket with the hand not holding the computer from Alchemax. A second later, he pulls out the busted goober. “Did Peter have a place where we could make another one of these?”

May looks at the tech pensively, taking it in her hand. “A goober…” she recognizes. Her face turns serious, wearing a look Peter identifies as kindred with that which she wears when faced with a full E.R. at midnight. 

“Follow me.”

* * *

They do. May leads them through the house (which is eerily similar to the one he grew up in, but he doesn’t really know what he expected) and out to the backyard. Peter B. begins to talk up his own storage of his suits, but the patterned light appearing on the shed as May inserts the lock’s key draws his attention away. May turns once the entrance fully opens, motioning with a tilt of her head to follow. He trails behind the kids, with Peter B. lagging behind into the elevator.

"I mean…this place is pretentious," Peter B. comments, and even though it's from a land of feelings of inadequacy, he can't help but agree somewhat. He’s not all that jealous because he knows he’s capable of a project like this, but the funds are so beyond his reach.

What kind of budget did this Peter have at his disposal to get his hands on tech like this? Then again, it's not surprising. Just like a Chem E to go into it for the paycheck. 

_Go back and test your water, you sellout chemist._

And wait, _wow_ . He _did not_ know how many resentments he hoarded for chemical engineering until now. That's just what a degree in chem does to you, he guesses. 

But even joking resentment doesn’t sit right with him. The guy sacrificed his life to get them a step closer to saving the multiverse and saved Miles’ life; the least he can do is cut him some slack for wanting to go into a field where he knew he’d have some kind of job security and steady paycheck. He’s sure this guy never had to sell the bike he’d bought on Craigslist the week before on the same website just to be able to make rent. He probably built himself his own bicycle, maybe even a Spider Mobile. 

If he was so perfect, though, how could he let things end with Torch so poorly?

Sure, maybe he wasn’t attached to the guy in the same way, but this Peter couldn't be so much of a dick to just sever all connections. He can admit that had he not seen the fallout of what a poor reaction could potentially lead to, Peter's not sure what would've happened had Johnny started seriously infringing upon identity-reveal territory—especially if Johnny had voiced his frustrations on the matter in earnest. But he could never see himself just _walking away_.

The slow descent of the platform and the sudden illumination of the cavern below pulls Peter from his thoughts. From this height, he can see various vehicles on display (including a Spider Mobile, god damn it) and cases for what he assumes are suits. He’s worn a few different costumes in his universe, but he’s never had the space, resources or real motivation to organize them into a space like this. To be honest, he’s not quite sure what became of some of them. He’s pretty sure he still has the spare Fantastic Four uniform stashed somewhere, but that paper bag definitely ended up carrying his lunch to work at some point.

He steps off the platform as it arrives on the ground. The five all break off in different directions, Peter himself drawn to the darkened monitors. Below the screens lies a sprawling desk covered in spider themed merch. He’d make fun of the ego, but some of the little figures are kind of adorable, so he’ll let it slide. 

“Hey Peter, I think this is a cape,” Miles calls in a whispered tone from across the room, drawing his attention until he realizes it’s directed toward the other Peter. Peter B. chuckles, and Miles smiles with vindication. Peter himself can’t help but mirror the same sentiment, and he catches Gwen’s eye as the gears turn in her head as well. The two are getting along well. It looks like Miles has found his mentor.

Lingering a second longer at the monitor station, he turns to the web blotted with pictures and red string. From behind the group of them, May begins to speak.

“Peter knew how dangerous the job was,” —an understatement— “but he figured the only one who could stop this guy was Spider Man.” 

It makes sense. Kingpin, true to his name, holds innumerable public officials and institutions in his pocket. Anyone affiliated with any sort of organization could be compromised. The only person to trust when you can’t trust anyone is yourself.

“Kingpin knows we’re coming. We’re going to be outnumbered,” Miles points out. It’s true. Fisk’s usually challenging to deal with alone, but networked as he is with Alchemax, they’re in over their heads, especially with the greeting they’ve already given him. They may as well have fired off warning shots and hired a herald and trumpeter to announce their presence. With any element of surprise off the table, odds look fairly bleak. 

But May cuts in, countering: “Don’t be so sure.” She presents their group with…nametags and markers. Peter hasn't had to wear one of these since the last tech expo he attended. “You might need these.” Why would they need these? They’re already all introduced? “You think you’re the only people who thought to come here?”

Wait, what? What does she mean by— 

Peter looks up, eyes following the same path as his fellow spiders. The same tingle of familiarity runs through his nervous system.

Huh. They’re not alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um, hello. It's been a minute, huh? And by a minute I mean...almost five months. Yikes! How time flies.  
> \--  
> Anyway, since I've been gone a lot has happened. I graduated! I was sick (with chronic stuff and not covid, dw)! I...honestly don't recall what else. But nearly every day I have thought about writing more for this fic. I got stuck, however, and could not get past writer's block for this fic in particular. However!! today was the end to that block :)  
> \--  
> To assuage any fears: I have full intentions to finish this fic. It would be awkward if not, considering I've already written later chapters and some bits from the end, haha. Updates might be a little slow depending on how much I struggle to write upcoming chapters, but they will come, I swear.  
> Thank you so much for your patience. I really feel so lucky to have received some of the kindest readers and comments :') Every one of your comments makes me so happy. I don't know how to convey my gratitude and excitement, but I would like you to know it exists, at least.  
> \--  
> As far as the chapter goes itself, I hope it wasn't too dull!! It'll be a while yet before Flamehead shows his pretty face again, but please stick with me in the meantime. I'm trying to balance movie dialogue to stay close to the original, but also add in sparse additions when necessary that feel organic without detracting from other characters?? It's tricky. We'll be getting some less direct-from-movie scenes soon, though, including my favorite I've written so far (spoiler: it features mainly gwen because I love Gwen).  
> \--  
> Oh, the chapter title comes from St. Vincent's "New York."  
> \--  
> I'll stop ranting now, haha. TTFN!  
> \--  
> Next up: let's all get acquainted, shall we?


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